


The Department of Magical Retrieval

by sp00kygrrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Slytherin-centric, draco redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kygrrl/pseuds/sp00kygrrl
Summary: Fern Fawley, a former Slytherin whose family were documented Death Eater supporters, works for The Ministry of Magic after the Second Wizarding War in the Department of Magical Retrieval. This is a new sub-department within the Department of Mysteries. There hasn't been a single case of a stolen artifact in over four years. Until Now.





	1. Episode 1: Stolen

Fern was quite happy with how the day had played out for her. It was a Friday, thank the gods, and she had just settled in from another dreary and mundane day at work. She'd immediately shed her work clothes and donned the comfiest robe she owned, intent of finishing the last of her work, in the comfort of her own home. She sat poised on her couch, her cat Pixie snuggled to her side, as she went through the endless stacks of paperwork haphazardly tossed across her lap.

She'd never imagined during her _Hogwarts_ days, that working at _The Ministry_ _of Magic_ , would require so much _blasted_ paperwork. Fern worked for a small sub-department within _The Department of Mysteries_ called the _Magical Artifacts Retrieval Department_ or  _Magical Retrieval Department_ , for short. This, she found, was a right joke. The department was made of solely herself and, in the four years she'd been working there, not a single artifact had ever been stolen. In fact, since its founding in 1998, nothing had even been _misplaced_.

However, as much as she complained about the humdrum of the job, it didn't require much from her. She simply sat in her office, filed away new artifacts, and set them in their proper locations within the ministries vault. Most of the said artifacts were confiscated items from wizards and witches, sometimes dark, sometimes not. Then, once every six months, she was required to take a detailed inventory of every item she'd ever stored in the vault. As tedious as this was, it was the only real hurdle she faced during the year, so she really couldn't grumble too much about it.

This fateful day had approached this Friday, and with a grim look of determination, she'd steadfast to the task of checking boxes off a very, very long scroll. Right now, her hand ached from the torture it had gone through today, and she wondered idly if she'd be able to even hold a quill next week. After spending most of the day in the dark and mazed vault, she actually managed to complete the task in a short eighteen hour time frame. Now, after she finished this small mound of paperwork, she'd be free to have a decently carefree weekend.

Well, that was, until an unannounced interdepartmental memo burst through her fireplace, looking quite frazzled too.

The shock of it flying in caused her to spill the inventory papers onto the floor and her cat to give her a very quick and painful hiss and bite. She cursed, holding her finger to her body in alarm, her eyes meeting the memo in silent annoyance. It didn't wait for her to compose herself, and simply opened, talking at her in a frenzy of words. As if it couldn't wait to get the information out and done with.

"Dear members of the Ministry of Magic,

We regret to inform you, at this dreadful hour, that we've had a breach in security. At exactly 10:03pm tonight, the _Magical Artifact's_ vault was infiltrated, and a magical relic was stolen. However, there is no need for alarm. _The Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ has managed to secure the scene and no one was seriously hurt in the breach. We expect any departments affected directly by this breach to come to _The Ministry of Magic_ tomorrow at 9am ,promptly, to be subjected to questioning.

Thank you for your time and cooperation,

M.o.M "

As Fern watched the note shred itself she felt her mouth go dry and her hands begin to shake.

"So much for a quiet weekend…"

* * *

The next day, Fern was required like everyone else in her department, to come in for questioning. It had taken every ounce of her the night before to get any sleep, as she could hear the voice of the memo being replayed in her head, over and over.

 _Magical Artifacts vault. Her_ vault.

She shuddered as she approached the steps, just thinking of it. She had some cause for worry. Fern hadn't exactly walked the straight and narrow during her lifetime in the wizarding community. Well, at least, her family hadn't. Fern Fawley had been sorted into Slytherin in 1991, along with Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott. All of these people were confirmed to have had _extremely close_ ties to both the Death Eaters and even to Voldemort _himself._ _Of course_ , Fern had never been particularly close with any of them. Well, any of them _besides_ Theodore Nott.

Not only this, but her own family had been subjected to questioning in 1981, after Voldemort had been thought to be defeated for good by an infant Harry Potter. Her parents had testified that they were under the imperius curse when they gave aid to the death eaters, of which Fern never knew if it was the truth or a lie, and exonerated shortly thereafter.

As she approached the doors and submitted herself and her belongings for a (very thorough) check, she felt the bubbles of anxiety begin to rise in the pit of her stomach. Surely, after all these years working for the ministry diligently, they wouldn't suspect her, right?

She got her answer not twenty minutes later, as she sat at her desk, directly across from none other than Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

She'd come to her office in a frenzy, realizing her office had been ransacked, and gave a short clipped cry of alarm. Her desk had been nearly emptied, papers littered on the floor here and there, and her drawers to her filing cabinet had been done in much of the same way. She groaned outwardly as she looked at the carnage. It would take her weeks, _no months_ , to sort back through this mess. Just as that thought crossed her, she'd heard someone gingerly give her open doorway a knock.

"Oh-um, come in."

She called, whipping around, only to come face to face with Harry _bloody_ potter.

"Oh, _merlin's beard_ , it's Harry Potter…"

She let out, turning red immediately in horror, as she realized she'd said it out loud.

"Um, right, yes that's me. And you're Fern Fawley, correct?"

"That's correct. I'm Fern Fawley, the head of _The Department of Magical Artifacts Retrieval._ "

 _The only person in the bloody department, I should add._ She thought, feeling incredibly idiotic just hearing herself say her shoddy department title. She quickly sat down at her otherwise destroyed desk, somewhat ungracefully.

"Oh, well, we just need to question you a bit on what exactly it is you did last night."

" _We?_ "

She asked back, incredulously, before she noticed a very annoyed Ron Weasley standing to Harry's left.

"Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry, how rude of me. You must be Ron Weasley, it's a pleasure."

She offered her hand, but Ron just stared at it, his freckled ears had a tinge of red to the top. She realized he looked quite put off and she awkwardly dropped her hand, giving a very shaky laugh. It wasn't everyday actual heroes stepped into her office. _Or anyone at all_. She thought, sadly.

"Well, please sit, I'm sorry for the mess. It seems I was plundered, though I doubt anyone found anything good here."

She said, attempting to recover with a joke, but was met by blank faces.

"We're sorry about that. We'll have them come back in and rearrange it, if you like."

Harry offered kindly as he closed the door and sat down in front of her. And it was then that Fern realized that this wasn't simply a questioning, but a full on interrogation.

"So, yes, you were wondering to my whereabouts during the break in then, correct?"

"Yes, that would be nice of you to provide."

Harry said. Ron took the seat to his left and grumbled into it, still looking quite vexed, but she couldn't fathom why.

"Of course, anything to help. Well, I had to do inventory that day. As you know, my department is required to file away any artifacts taken by _The Ministry_. However, once every six months, we're required to double-check what we have in our vault. So, I spent about 18 hours on Friday going through and making sure everything was accounted for. And, of course, it was."

She finished, but Ron and Harry simply exchanged a look.

"Is it true that your family was questioned in 1981 for supporting Voldemort?"

"Um, well, yes but I'm not sure what that has to do with-"

"Is it also true that you were sorted into Slytherin in 1991, and once close with Theodore Nott, the son of a convicted and subsequently dementor kissed, Death Eater?"

"Yes, and yes Theodore and I were partners in Charm's class, but I don't understand-"

"We find it incredibly suspicious that you, given your history, did your inventory on the exact night of the break-in."

Ron's words had come out in almost one long string of half-shouted accusations and Fern had been completely overwhelmed. Harry, for his part, sat next to him in thinly veiled anxiety.

"Um, I think what Ron means is, it doesn't look that great for you when we look at the facts. We simply want to rule you out, if possible, as a suspect."

Ron huffed before Fern could realize how insulted she should be.

"She's a Slytherin 'Arry, and not just any, she's part of the _bloody_ sacred twenty-eight. Of course it's got to be her."

Fern felt every hair on her body stand on end.

" _Excuse me_ , I beg your pardon! I've worked for _The Ministry_ _ceaselessly_ helping you Auror's file away unwanted dark artifacts for over _four years_. Why in _merlin's name_ would I suddenly decide to steal something. I don't even know what it is I'm _accused_ of stealing."

She hadn't meant it to, but it came out in a shout, and it caused both Harry and Ron to wince back.

" _Blimey_ , I think she could give Hermione a run for her money."

This was all that graced itself to come out of Ron's mouth and she felt her own ears blazing a dark red.

" _Ahem_ , I'm sorry for this Fern, but we have to look at the facts presented to us. Perhaps you could give us a bit more to go off of?"

Another knock against the door and all three of their heads whipped to see a figure at the door that Fern was immensely relieved to see. There stood Zoe Accrington, a fellow Slytherin, who had been her friend since first year. She'd eventually come to work in the _Department of Mysteries_ directly alongside Hermione Granger. They often had coffee or, depending on the week, a shot of fire whiskey or two after work on Friday's most weeks. _Oh, that's it!_ She thought, but it seemed she was a little late on the uptake.

"Hello, I'm sorry to interrupt, but my name is Zoe Accrdington. I work alongside Hermione Granger in the _Department of Mysteries_. I wanted to come by and drop this note off to you. You see, Fern couldn't have broke in to the vault, she was with me getting a bit to drink after work until nearly 11pm. I disclosed our intent to do so to Ms. Granger the night of the breach. We've written a sworn affidavit of it."

It was then Fern felt all the color return to her face. The note was passed to Harry who gave it a good read, nodding here and there, before giving Zoe a smile.

"Thank you, Ms. Accrdington. It seems that Fern can be ruled out as a suspect."

Fern let out a silent heave of relief as she mouthed "thank you" to Zoe before she disappeared back to her own questioning. Harry looked delighted, but Ron still looked a bit miffed, like he was disappointed that she hadn't been the culprit. She felt her mouth twitch in irritation. She knew he had a distaste for Slytherin's, but she hadn't known it to be _this_ bad.

"I'm quite glad that you were able to be ruled out. In fact, I've got quite the favor to ask of you."

Harry said to her, folding the paper back into the envelope, and pocketing it. Fern peered back at him in confusion. _What could Harry Potter the Auror want from me?_ She wondered.

"I was, erm, hoping really, you'd work with us, actually."

He said, fumbling over his words. It took a full ten agonizing seconds for Fern to comprehend what he'd said, before she felt like her eyes had bugged out of her skull.

"You want...me...to help you…?"

She asked, in a state of disbelief. She had no idea what she could possibly offer Harry Potter, but she'd be damned to not find out. It wasn't everyday that someone came to her office needing her for something actually important.

"Well, yes. We need someone with your _expertise_ , of sorts, to help us with this case."

Immediately, her face fell flat, her mouth became a hard line, and she felt her fists clench against her A-line skirt and tights underneath the table.

"What exactly are my _expertise_?"

The words came out more like a hiss and Harry winced a little.

"You know bloody well what he means. You've got experience with the sort of thing we're going after."

Ron answered for him, and Fern chewed her lip to not hex him where he stood, her hands digging into her skin to not reach for her wand.

"Well, erm, what Ron means is-"

"You need someone whose got knowledge of the Dark Arts and the Death Eaters to assist you, since you've either imprisoned or killed nearly all of the rest of them, understood."

She said hallowly.

"Um, no, not exact-"

"Well, you'll be _saddened_ to know that I'm not particularly skilled in the dark arts neither did I have anything to do with the Death Eaters, surprising, I know. Me being Slytherin, and all. What, was Pansy Parkinson not available?"

She bit out, causing Harry to wince, and shoot Ron a very unkind look.

"Erm, no, not at all like that. I apologize if that came off as rude."

Harry glared at Ron, the words coming out tense, as he elbowed him hard in the ribs. Ron sputtered.

"What we meant was, we need someone skilled in magical retrieval. We've also heard that you're quite skilled in the creation and making of magical devices, as well as quite adept in charm use. Are you truly able to use wandless magic?"

Fern felt completely deflated then, offering a small, suspicious response back.

"Well, uh, yes, I am, actually. And I _owe all of that to my friend Theodore Nott_."

She bit out, shooting Ron a death glare, but he pretended not to notice.

"Er, great! We'd love to have you work with us. Especially since you are the magical artifact retrieval unit and well, we have a magical artifact that wants retrieving."

He attempted a bit of humor, but the room was too tense for it and it fell flat. Fern mulled it over.

"Fine. I suppose it is in my job description. Well, that and it's bloody boring filing away things and doing paperwork everyday."

Harry immediately lit up, standing and offering to shake her hand, of which she allowed.

"Brilliant! I'm very glad you decided to work with us."

Ron stayed seated, a look of resigned doom on his face, and Fern scowled a bit.

"Yes, well, I'd also like to be able to be disclosed what _exactly_ was stolen from my vault. _I am_ allowed to know that, aren't I?"

Harry sat back down, going back to business quickly, nodding vigorously.

"Certainly! Uh, right, just one moment!"

He said, taking his wand out and warding the room with a silencing charm.

"Oh, is it that top secret?"

Fern asked, suddenly much more curious as to what was taken.

"I'm 'fraid so."

Harry said, gravely, a look of dejectedness crossing his face.

"So, out with it then, what did they get their grubby little hands on?"  
  
He looked at her even graver still, his mouth a hardline, before finally speaking.

"Well, from what we could gather, only one object was taken. During the Second Wizarding War, Hermione had somehow acquired Dumbledore's book of _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_. It actually came right handy during the days we were looking for the Horcruxes, but it was a dangerous artifact, of course. If anyone with the wrong ideas got hold of it...well, it'd be bad. So, after the war, Hermione gave the book to The Ministry. We figured it'd be a lot safer there than anywhere else. Well, the object that was taken was the sole copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_."

Fern sucked in a breathe. She was, of course, acutely aware the book existed within her vaults. She'd had to check it off her ruddy list not even twenty four hours ago. It seemed unreal to her that now it could possibly be in the hands of someone dangerous. She waited for him to go on.

"There wasn't just the book, though. Here's where it gets a bit more dodgy. When we did our first investigation of the scene we found this."

Harry pulled a curious looking object out of his pocket, and once fully visible, Fern could see it was a music box.

"...A music box?"

She answered, not sure what she was supposed to gather from that.

"Yes, and not just any music box, a cursed one. Anyone who listens to it will fall into a deep, deep slumber. It's on our list of dangerous and illegal artifacts."

Fern furrowed her brow, her thumb resting against her chin, in thought.

"Curious. So it's obviously a dark wizard or witch, then? Perhaps a former Death Eater?"

She mused. Harry nodded, smiling.

"Yes, we thought so too! Nobody else would be harboring cursed objects, not after the war and seizure by the Ministry."

"Well, do you have any leads on who might've gotten their hands on this?"

Harry nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable as he did, Ron huffed.

"Erm, well, yes, actually. You see, we knew this artifact existed, and even where it existed. However, we were certain that it was in good hands, and it's a family heirloom of sorts and relatively harmless, so we felt no need to confiscate it, at the time."

Fern frowned. _Ah, so this is about the Ministry's reputation. If it got out that an illegal item was allowed to be stored by someone by the ministry, things could get very dodgy indeed._ She thought.

"So, who is it then, that was allowed to have this _heirloom_?"

She said, feeling a bit cheekier than she probably should. Harry looked uncomfortable, but Ron just shot her a level look.

"The last known location of this _heirloom_ was Malfoy Manor."


	2. Episode 2: Malfoy Manor

Fern understood now why Ron had been so upset when they’d walked into her office. He’d known immediately that Fern hadn’t committed the crime. She wasn’t the one he’d been dreading to see.

 

 It was Malfoy. 

 

After Harry and Ron had left, Harry had requested audience with Malfoy at his manor. It had taken exactly two days after that to secure a meeting day for the afternoon after, absurdly enough, for a cup of tea. It was then, standing at the doorway of the frightening manor, that Fern understood why Ron had been acting like a right git. 

 

Harry lifted and rang the enormous knocker on the front, adjusting his outfit, looking a bit uncomfortable. Beside him, Ron had the look of a man waiting to be hung. Fern, for her part, fidgeted endlessly behind them. She sincerely hoped Malfoy didn’t remember her. It took about another long and painful forty seconds to go by before a homely looking elf opened the door a crack. 

 

“Winky wants to know who yous are, please.”

 

Fern tilted her head in confusion. She remembered Winky from somewhere. It only took her a few moments to put the pieces together.

 

“We’re Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Fern Fawley. We’re here to see your Master.”

 

Winky nodded vigorously, allowing the door to open for them, and they stepped in. Beside her, Ron was clenching and unclenching his fists. Winky showed them the way to what Fern presumed was the drawing room, and took this small opportunity, to pick Harry’s brain. 

 

“Hey Harry, wasn’t Winky working at Hogwarts during our last year?”

 

She whispered, cupping her hand to his ear. She remembered Winky swaying as she served her food from the kitchens at Hogwarts, quite vividly. It was an absurdly funny image, she had to admit. Harry nodded back.

 

“Yeah, she was, but she couldn’t kick the butterbeer habit. She got canned shortly after and I guess Malfoy took her in for a bit of work.”

 

Ron gave a dark chuckle at Harry’s response.

 

“Right shame, too. I’m sure there’s a fat chance in hell that prat isn’t treating her like a dog. She was better off at Hogwarts. You remember what the Malfoy’s did to Dobby.”

Harry’s face soured immediately, but it wasn’t Harry who spoke.

 

“Ah, good to see you as well, Weasel.”

 

Malfoy’s baritone voice hit their ears. Fern could almost hear the sneer on his vestige in his voice, without even needing to see him. As they finished rounding the corner they found Malfoy sitting, legs crossed, at a table setup for tea. Fern stood anxiously behind Harry and Ron, praying that she’d have to do very little talking. She’d always been afraid of Malfoy during school. He’d bullied nearly everyone in the Slytherin house, and not only that, but he’d been the one to attempt to kill Dumbledore during sixth year. She shuddered just thinking about it. 

 

“Likewise, Ferret. You’re not too busy terrorizing house elves to have us for a bit of tea, then?”

 

“No, I’m afraid not, but I am quite busy these days, as you know.”

 

She watched Ron grit his teeth, his fists again clenching and unclenching, in rapid succession. 

 

“What? Busy managing Daddy’s filthy death eater money while he’s away at prison?”

 

Suddenly, the room became very still. No one dared to move or breathe and Fern felt like a cold breeze had drifted in. Draco didn’t move a single inch, but she could see his eyes narrow minutely from behind Harry. 

 

“I’m sure not nearly as busy as you are, having to deal with Rita reporting on your broken engagement, and all. I’ve read the _Weekly_ , you see. Seems Granger got smart and realized she truly _was_ the better half of the two of you.”

 

It was then that everybody went into action. Ron lunged forward, seemingly forgetting his magic and instead, going straight for Malfoy’s throat. Malfoy, for his part, moved not a fraction of an inch. He wore his trademark sneer as Harry grappled Ron back from attacking him.

 

“You _foul_ git!”

 

Fern wasn’t quite sure what to do and simply stared, gripping her cardigan by the ends, watching it unfold like it was a soap on prime time. 

 

“Ron, it’s just Malfoy, calm down.”

 

Harry cooed, attempting to calm his friend down, who did nothing of the sort.

 

“He had no right to talk about her! No right!”

 

Ron yelled looking like a caged animal attempting to rip his way from his grip, but eventually cursed, and gave in. He went limp and then batted Harry’s arms away from him.

 

“I can’t do this today, Harry. I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

 

And with that, a very emotional Ron Weasley walked straight out of Malfoy Manor, and left the three of them, alone. 

 

\--

 

“So, what can I do for you today, _Potter_?”

 

Draco sat across from them now, a spot of tea in all of their hands, an awkward tension running between them like wildfire. Harry, oddly enough, didn’t seem as uncomfortable as he should of been. Or, at least, as uncomfortable as Fern had thought he _would_ be. She remembered how mercilessly Malfoy and Harry fought through nearly all of their years in Hogwarts. She found it incredibly odd that it wasn’t Harry and Malfoy at each other's throats. If anything, it seemed Harry and Malfoy were even, dare she say, civil?

 

“Thanks for having us, Malfoy. And I’m sure you’ve read about the breach at _The Ministry_ in the _Prophet_.”

 

Draco looked much the same as Fern remembered him. He was deathly pale, perfectly alabaster skin, with strikingly blonde near-white hair.  However, his face had lost the pointiness Fern had always attributed to it. Instead, it had rounded out in places, and defined in others. He was no longer the needle-faced bully of her past, but instead, a seemingly unsuspecting adult. Though, as she learned today, the sneer was much the same. It reminded her of the one Lucius Malfoy would frequently give some of the non-pure blood students in Diagon Alley as they got their books, a knowing acknowledgement to how superior he thought he was to anyone else. It left a blatant distaste in her mouth.

 

“Of course, _Potter_ , it was on the front page. I’m not _daft_. Now, out with it, my tea is getting cold.”

 

He sipped his, and though his face give off a bit of mirth, his tone was anything but. He was clipped and to the point, it seemed, and Fern was actually grateful for it. The less time they needed to dance around it, the less time she’d have to be there. 

 

“Well, yes, of course. There’s something about it I’d actually like to run by you.”

 

Harry motioned to Fern, who pulled the music box from within the confines of her coat, and handed it to Harry. Malfoy’s pale eyes slid from Harry onto Fern and then stayed there. His gaze was intense and she felt herself drowning underneath it. 

 

“I’m sorry, how rude of me, I nearly forgot we had another guest.”

 

Draco said, still holding her gaze, seemingly ignoring Harry for the moment.

 

“Er, right. This is Fern Fawley. She went to Hogwarts and--”

 

Draco’s eyes slid rapidly from her to Harry, his brow furrowed in annoyance, this time.

 

“Once again Potter, I’m not daft and I’m not as uncouth as you as to forget who my classmates were. I’ve been acquainted with Ms. Fawley for quite some time.”

 

Fern fidgeted. She wouldn’t exactly call them _acquainted_ . She’d once been fumbling around with her cauldron in potions, unsure of what exactly Snape had asked them to do, and Malfoy had been her unfortunate partner. He’d never introduced himself or even spoke two words to her. However, he had come over and wordlessly adjusted her grip on the knife she was using to cut Asphodel for the Wiggenweld potion they’d been brewing. He’d also stopped her from adding a few ingredients she shouldn’t have, and had managed to both get them passing marks on the assignment. _Acquainted_ was not the word she’d go with, perhaps, existed near would be better?

 

“Oh, uh, yes. Malfoy was my partner in potions, once.”

 

Fern found herself saying, attempting to cool the molten atmosphere between Harry and Malfoy. And, it dropped, just like that.

 

“You work for _The Ministry_ now, then? An Auror?”

 

Fern fidgeted, severely uncomfortable with the topic now being herself. Weren’t they supposed to be questioning _him_?

 

“Well, yes, but I don’t work as an Auror. I’m just assisting Harry. I work in a sub-department of _The_ _Department of Mysteries_.”

 

Malfoy seemed to mull the information over for a moment.

 

“Is that so? What’s the name of it? Perhaps I’ve donated.”

 

Fern winced, realizing she’d have to respond.

 

“Well, it’s called _The Magical Artifact Retrieval Department_. I’m sure you haven’t.”

 

Malfoy didn’t let his eyes leave Fern’s.

 

“Perhaps I should.”

 

Harry coughed at that moment and his focus changed, allowing Fern to breathe again.

 

“ _Ahem._ Sorry to interrupt, but we do have a rather pressing matter on our hands.”

 

Malfoy’s brows immediately furrowed as he looked at the object in Harry’s hands.

 

“That couldn’t be…”

 

He said, breathlessly, a look of surprise written on his face. Harry nodded.

 

“Yes, it's the Black’s music box.”

 

Draco clicked his tongue, his face turning annoyed.

 

“It couldn’t possibly be.”

 

He answered, matter-of-factly. Harry frowned.

 

“Yet, here it is. Care to tell us how this got misplaced, Malfoy?”

 

It was Harry’s turn to do the questioning, now. Malfoy got up rather abruptly, causing Fern to jump a bit, and nearly spill her tea. 

 

“Fine, if we _must_ keep doing this. Follow me, Potter, and be prepared to eat your unsaid accusations.”

 

\--

 

It was then that Harry and Fern found themselves standing in Malfoy’s study. It wasn’t even a study, that would be too modest, it was like an entire library. Fern mused that Hermione would probably be _loathe_ to know that this type of thing was wasted on Malfoy. He walked over to particularly impressive display made of entirely glass and polished dark wood. Inside the case, as plain as day, was the exact music box Harry currently had in his hands. Fern gasped.

 

“It’s a fake.”

 

She said aloud, moving closer to observe the one behind Malfoy’s display. He motioned for her to move aside and opened the case, producing one music box, identical to theirs. Fern reached for it and Malfoy dropped it from his gloved hands into her open palm. 

 

“Fern is quite adept at creating and understanding magical devices. I had a hunch we might find another music box here, so just in case, I decided to have her along. I’m quite glad I did.”

 

Fern ignored Harry and instead focused on the box within her hands. She motioned for Harry to give her the fake and he did so. Her fingers traced the etchings on the boxes and found something she hadn’t noticed before. 

 

“ _Revelio._ ”

 

She whispered, watching the music box inches from her face, revealing a symbol. The symbol wasn’t unfamiliar to her and she gasped.

 

“Harry, look!”

 

She gestured to the box, allowing Harry to inspect it, and Malfoy too. 

 

“The Dark Mark.”

 

Malfoy said, solemnly. He turned to Harry, a grave look on his face.

 

“Potter, what _exactly_ was stolen from within _The Ministry_?” 

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. 

 

“Harry, is it wise to tell him? No offense Malfoy, but you’re not on _The Ministries_ pay grade.”

 

Harry looked even more uncomfortable somehow and Malfoy gave a soft humorless chuckle.

 

“Oh, but I _am_ on their pay grade.”

 

Fern looked between Malfoy and Harry, confusion written on her face.

 

“ _Harry_ , _what_ does Malfoy mean by that?”

 

\--

 

They found themselves being poured another cup of tea, in fact, Winky had produced an entire pot. _So much for the hopes of a short visit._ Fern thought grimly.

 

“Malfoy is an informant for _The Ministry_. He’s been steadily helping us track down illegal artifacts that are then seized by us. And well, you know what happens to them after, it is your job, after all.”

 

Fern felt her jaw drop and then snap shut again, looking at Malfoy to dispute this, but he simply put a heaping amount of sugar into his tea. 

 

“An informant…so all of the artifacts I get are--”

 

“Given to you by yours truly.”

 

Malfoy finished, adding yet another spoonful of sugar to his tea, and Fern wrinkled her nose.

 

“Malfoy, don’t you think that's enough sugar? You’re making me sick simply looking at it.”

 

Fern hadn’t meant for it to come out, or come out as harshly as it did, and sat back in horror as Malfoy ceased immediately in his third helping. He simply set the spoon down, giving her a level, blank look.

 

“ _Ahem_. Anyways, it seems like we’ve cleared your name, but it seems I need to ask more of you again.”

 

Malfoy let a puff of air escape his nose, in not quite a snort, but as close as any Malfoy would get to one. 

 

“I suspected.”

 

Fern suddenly had a thought, and set her own tea down.

 

“Wait, if the only other copy of the music box is here, and the person who stole it went to such trouble to make an _exact_ copy. Then, that would mean that---”

 

“They’re trying to frame me. Ah, _what’s new?_ ”

 

Malfoy finished for her, finally drinking what was undoubtedly the sweetest concoction Fern had ever seen, and she flinched as it reached his lips. His eyes slid to hers, watching her discomfort with humor dancing behind his eyes. _That prat was intentionally trying to make her uncomfortable!_

 

“Which-”

 

Harry said, watching their interactions curiously.

 

“- is why I wanted to ask your opinion. Who would want to frame you for this?”

 

Malfoy almost sputtered out his tea.

 

“What a silly question, _Potter_ . Half the wizarding world _hates me_ and the other half wants _me dead_ . How am I supposed to _fathom_ a guess as to which?”

 

Harry frowned, a pleading look to his face.

 

“C’mon Malfoy, there’s got to be someone.”

 

He thought for a moment and then sighed deeply.

 

“I _doubt_ he’d have the _brains_ to pull it off alone, but perhaps Goyle could’ve been _involved_ . I know for a fact that after the war ended he still held on _vehemently_ to the old blood purity notion. As far as I’ve heard, he still does to this day.”

 

Harry sat back, seemingly deep in thought, hands to his chin.

 

“Goyle’s not a bad suspect. Not bad at all. But how would we ever interview him? He wouldn’t exactly be _chipper_ walking down to _The Ministry_ to have a bit of a chat now, would he?”

 

Malfoy’s eyes danced behind their grey confines and a sickly feeling spread in Fern’s stomach.

 

“No, but lucky for you, I’m every bit as _cunning_ as they give me credit for. I think I’ve got a way to get that _moron_ out and into our hands.”

 

Harry nodded, clearly intent on listening to his idea. However, Fern had a very bad feeling about this. She wasn’t entirely unaware that during 5th year, someone had mentioned that Goyle had a bit of a crush on her. She swallowed thickly as Malfoy’s eyes changed direction back to her again.

 

“The ballroom in Malfoy Manor has been _wanting_ for a fundraiser for quite some time now. Perhaps, we can throw one for our _newest department_ , hm?”

 

Fern frowned.

 

“I don’t know if that’s entirely necessar--”

 

Malfoy cut her off.

 

“I’m sure you’re not entirely unaware Ms. Fawley that Goyle had a rather large crush on you during 5th year, and 4th year, and all of the years, actually.”

 

Fern felt herself attempting to force down bile at the mere thought of what he was suggesting.

 

“ _You’re not suggesting_ \---”

 

Malfoy sneered.

 

“All I’m _suggesting_ , Ms. Fawley, is we extend Goyle an invitation, with your name in fancy gold lettering at the top. The only thing that Goyle can’t turn down is flattery, and an invitation to an exclusive party at Malfoy Manor, well it's the ultimate form.”

 

Harry seemed to nod in excited agreement.

 

“ _Brillant_ , Malfoy, _absolutely_ brilliant!”

 

Fern felt herself begin to drown in dread as they discussed the logistics. 

 

 _Great, a fundraiser with Malfoy. Can’t wait to see how_ **_fun_ ** _this is going to be._


	3. Episode 3: The Dress

Fern slammed her head dramatically on her desk causing it to creak slightly under the force. It had taken her all _bloody_ week to fix the mess that had been left in her office. As nice as it was for them to “clean” it up, it still needed to be reorganized, and she’d spent all week doing just so. After the _unpleasantness_ with Malfoy, they’d setup this “fundraiser” for exactly a week after. This meant, the fundraiser was on Saturday night, which also happened to be tomorrow. Fern groaned aloud at the thought of having to entertain Goyle as she heard someone gingerly knocking against her door.

 

“Yes, yes, come on in. Don’t be alarmed. It’s only _my brain_ that's dead.”

 

She said, her voice muffled by the desk still underneath her face. She heard the distinctive laugh of Zoe Accrington, of which she’d been certain had been on the other side of the door.

 

“I take it your in need of a few drinks, then?”

 

Fern plastered her face off of her desk and sighed.

 

“You have _absolutely_ no idea.”

 

\--

 

“ _Really?_ A fundraiser with _Malfoy_?”

 

Zoe asked, sporting a slight butterbeer mustache, a look of surprise on her face. Fern frowned.

 

“Well, er, yes. He offered to host and I didn’t want to be rude. Besides, we could use the funds.”

 

Zoe sighed, wiping at her mouth, nearly getting her chestnut hair in the mix during the process.

 

“Well, I don’t envy you. I heard what he said to Ron.”

 

It was Fern’s turn to be surprised and she nearly spat out her own drink.

 

“Ron? How do you know about that?”

 

Zoe rolled her eyes indignantly. 

 

“ _Oh please_ , half the office heard about it when it happened. There I was, sitting at my desk working, when Ron came bursting in demanding to see Hermione. He was all red-faced and looked _positively peeved._ He then proceeded to yell about how Malfoy had said that he’d read a bit in the _Weekly_ about their, er, breakup. Ron said that he’d read she’d been reported to be seeing another man. It was a _bloody right mess_ , it was!”

 

Fern flinched as she remembered the entire conversation vividly. However, Malfoy had never mentioned another man. It seemed, that was all Ron. She couldn’t fathom why he’d even believe the filth written in the _Weekly_ . Everyone knew Rita Skeeter blew smoke up her own arse. She reported on what she _wanted_ to hear from someone not what they _actually_ said. 

 

“Malfoy’s a real _prat_ , I reckon, going around saying things like _that_ to people. It’s shameful, but I guess not entirely unexpected. He is _Draco Malfoy_ , after all.”

 

Fern didn’t understand why, but she felt she needed to right the accusation, on Malfoy’s behalf. 

 

“Well, actually, Ron started the fight. He mentioned Malfoy’s “Death Eater” money and Lucius in Azkaban. If you ask me, Ron came in _looking_ for a fight.”

 

Zoe set down her butterbeer and peered at Fern curiously.

 

“Why are you sticking up for that _worm_? Don’t you remember all the cruel things he did during school?”

 

Fern shrugged non-committedly, talking from behind her own drink, afraid to say too much.

 

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem right to let someone take the blame for something they didn’t cause, now does it? But it doesn’t matter.”

 

Zoe eyed Fern curiously.

 

“Why _did_ you decide to take up Malfoy’s offer? Surely you’re not hurting for money that _badly_. I’ve seen the ledgers, you know.”

 

Fern fidgeted uncomfortably. She wanted to tell her it was because of the breach, but she knew it wasn’t her place to give out classified information. She rather liked her job and didn’t feel keen on losing it. 

 

“Nevermind that. I’m more interested in how Hermione reacted than that _git_ . Tell me, exactly what shade of red did her face go _before_ she hexed him into the next century?”

 

Zoe’s face turned into a sneer before she laughed.

 

“Well, I wasn’t there for that part, but Daphne Greengrass was and I snooped a little and she said….”

 

\--

 

Fern woke up to an insistent tapping sound on her bedroom window. She sat up stark straight at the sound, giving her alarm clock a good look, which read 8:03am, then gripped her head in agony. It felt like someone had squeezed it too hard a few times, before finally, giving it a good thrashing. She groaned and looked over to her left to let out an undignified yelp. 

     

“ _Gulping gargoyles!_ ”

 

She nearly fell out of bed as she watched some sort of creature repeatedly bang into her window (at a very alarming speed, she might add). Horrified, she immediately opened the window, afraid the glass would be shattered. In swooped an eagle owl, a very fine looking one too, a note in its beak and a parcel in its talons. _A package and a letter? At this hour?_ She thought, slightly thrown off by the random occurrence. Curiously, she approached the bird. 

 

Now, she wasn’t exactly _unfond_ of owl’s, but there _had_ been a reason she’d opted to get a cat during school instead. Her mother had had an owl in her youth, that had been particularly prone to biting, and she’d never quite gotten over it. She gingerly took the letter out of its mouth, and sat a little distance away, before she began to read.  
  
“Dear _Gregory_ ,

 

You are cordially invited to the _Magical Artifacts Fundraiser Event_ hosted at Malfoy Manor by Malfoy, and of course, _yours_ truly. I’ve sent this letter _personally_ as I _truly_ wish for you to attend. It would mean _the world_ to me if perhaps you’d consider joining me this evening, as _my date_. 

 

I expect all guests to arrive promptly at 8pm on Saturday next. I hope this letter finds you well.

 

Yours,

 

Fern Fawley.”

 

Fern felt heat immediately rise to her face. She definitely had not written nor had she approved the message that had been sent to Goyle. She also couldn’t help but notice the hearts attached to the end of the note, and when she put the letter close enough, she could smell the faint hints of perfume. She gagged a little and felt steam rise to her ears. She had a _sneaking suspicion_ she knew _exactly who_ had written the letter.

 

It was then, that she felt the unmistakable pinch of the owl’s beak. She looked over to see it was attempting to free itself of the burden of carrying the package she’d neglected and, quite forcibly, trying to get her to take it. _Of course his owl’s a prat too!_ She thought, ripping her fingers away, and freeing the package from the bird.

 

It was wrapped nicely, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized it. However, she was too tired and hungover to truly think, and ripped it open. Inside, was the most wonderful dress Fern had ever seen. It was iridescent blue and made of what appeared to be fine silk, tailored, and certainly absurdly expensive. And, placed elegantly on top, was a letter. In the same font as the one that had been sent to Goyle. It read, simply;

 

“To make sure you capture his heart- D.M.”

 

It was then she recognized the wrapping to be from _Twilfitt and Tattings_ . Malfoy had bought her a _bloody_ dress, to make fun of her in, as Goyle attempted to _flirt her up_. If Fern could shoot laser beams out of her eyes, she would have. She immediately felt herself wrapping the gift back up haphazardly, and standing to search for some parchment and a quill. The owl looked a bit concerned, but simply side stepped away from her, as she slammed back down onto her mattress. She wrote like a woman possessed, hardly stopping to even breathe, a look of pure anger written across her face. 

 

“How _DARE_ you send that letter without my _EXPRESSED_ permission. I’ve agreed to the fundraiser and _nothing else_ , Malfoy, _let’s get that clear_ . I don’t want your ruddy dress and I’m sending it back. In fact, I’d rather let _pixies rip my eyeballs out_ than ever wear something from _you._  

 

\- F.F.

 

P.S. Your bloody bird bites.”

 

And with that she tied the package back onto the leg of the owl, who looked extremely displeased it had to tote it back, and gave it the letter. It gave her a look she could only expect a Malfoy owl to give, and pompously, flew out of her open bedroom window.

 

“ _Take that back to your foul git of an owner. I’ll find an even prettier dress to wear. I won’t be on the butt end of Draco Malfoy’s endless bouts of mean games, you dumb pompous bitey bird!_ ”

 

She yelled back at it, as she stood, intent on getting herself dressed and to the nearest store.

 

\--

 

She found herself, not but three hours and one extremely uncomfortable train ride later, standing in front of _Twilfitt and Tattings._ She’d been going here with her family since she’d been very young, and she knew they had an excellent collection of fine dresses. She barged in, still quite angry.

 

“Hello! Can you please direct me to the prettiest dresses you have?”

 

She said, not realizing how completely mental she sounded, still coming off a bit miffed. The man at the desk simply stared, confused, before gracing her with a response.

 

“Well, they’d be over here, ma’am. Please, follow me.”

 

He directed her to a row of dresses, all of them, quite unextraordinary. He stopped, nodding to them.

 

“M’fraid these are what I have left. Mr. Malfoy is throwing a fundraiser, you know. I got a lot of commissions for that party. I shouldn’t say who the customer was, but I will say, our nicest dress was bought by a bloke yesterday afternoon. Quite a dress, that one was. I was sorry to see it go.”

 

Fern frowned deeply, her words coming through her closed teeth.

 

“ _I’m aware._ You don’t have any other ones? Something just as nice? Maybe in the back, perhaps?”

 

The man frowned and gave his deepest apologies. Fern sighed, nodded she understood, and began to pick through the rejects. They were all quite unremarkable, but one green dress did seem somewhat promising, so she took it into the dressing room to try it on. What greeted her made her cringe. Her honey blonde hair was tied up in a very, very messy bun, her sweater looked a bit wrinkled, her skin was a sickly pale color from her drinking, and she’d forgotten to put any makeup on in her hurry. She looked tired, sick, and just overall _exceptionally awful_. She sighed, heaving the dress on, untying her hair to get a better idea on how it would look. All that greeted her was disappointment. 

 

“Ugh, this looks like shit.”

 

She said aloud, seeing that the green color only made her that much more sickly. 

 

“You should’ve just worn the one I gave you, then.”

 

Fern almost choked on her own spit as she yanked the curtain open to find one Draco Malfoy sneering back at her, as if he had every right in the world to be standing there, staring at her. 

 

“What in _Merlin's beard_ are you doing here, _Malfoy_?”

 

He shrugged,continuing to look through an assortment of mens ties, pretending to appraise them. 

 

“What? Am I not allowed to shop here? The Malfoy’s have been coming here since it opened, I’ll have you know.”

 

She shook with anger, but attempted to calm herself down, and spoke in an angered whisper.

 

“ _As if_ you didn’t _already_ custom order and fit your suit. I’m not _daft_ enough to believe you’re looking for a tie to _your own fundraiser_ last _bloody_ minute.”

 

Malfoy clicked his tongue, as he gave her a once over, before he spoke.

 

“That color is absolutely _wretched_ . And that’s saying something from me because we all know how _fond_ I am of green.”

 

And that, my friend, was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

 

“ _Listen here you little prat_ , I didn’t come here to get _judged_ by the likes of _you_ . I already sent you a letter about how I’d rather _die_ than wear your dress.”

 

Malfoy had previously resumed in his browsing of the ties, but had stopped rigid when she spoke, and pivoted in her direction. His face was serious.

 

“And why is it that you’d, let me get this straight, rather have ‘pixies rip out your eyeballs’ than wear the _gracious_ gift I gave you?”

 

Fern felt herself bristle and gave in to her anger. She closed the curtain violently, yelling at him through it as she yanked the dress off, and put her clothes back on in record time. 

 

“I don’t know what your aim is, _Malfoy_ , but I’m not going to play _any games with you_ . And that letter you sent, you didn’t even _bloody_ ask me, you just sent it. For _salazaars sake_ , you put hearts on it, you even spritz it with a bit of _perfume_ . Do you understand how awkward of a night this going to be for me? No, _of course not_ , because you only think of _yourself_.”

 

She said all of this as she grabbed her purse, intent on exiting the fitting room, as well as the whole _bloody_ store. Malfoy frowned.

 

“I don’t understand. We agreed on this plan. I just made sure it would go as we wanted it to.”

 

He stood between her and the door, his arms up attempting to stop her from waltzing out, and she huffed.

 

“Nobody once asked me if I wanted to be Goyle’s date, so no, this wasn’t the plan.”

 

She attempted to get past him, but yet again, he moved in her way. He looked as if he was going to say something when Fern cut him off.

 

“Get out of my way, Malfoy. Stop stalking me and go home. You have a party to setup, don’t you?”

 

Something cracked inside Malfoy as she uttered the last two sentences, and she watched his previously distressed face turn into anger, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

“As if I’d stoop so _low_ as to stalk some _nobody little witch_ working in not even a Ministry department, but a sub-department, _like you_.”

 

Fern felt every muscle in her body go limp as the words left his mouth. His face and ears were red, his eyes were downcast, and his hands were clenched in his pockets. She opened her mouth once, then snapped it shut again, before finally speaking.

 

“You really are a _foul git_.”

 

And with that she walked past him, brushing past his shoulder roughly, as she went. 

 

She made it to the street corner before she heard Malfoy call after her. She didn’t pause in walking across the street, but he walked faster than her, it seemed.

 

“Wait, Fawley! Wait!”

 

He caught up to her, yet again getting in her way, and she was loathe to admit she had to turn a bit to wipe at the tears that had threatened to spill over in the store.

 

“Please, Fawley...let me...apologize. _Merlin_ , you walk fast.”

 

He doubled over a bit, seeming to be out of breath, before he looked at her levely. 

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said back there.”

 

Fern’s face soured and she frowned deeper.

 

“No, I think for the first time in your life, you said _exactly_ what you meant.”

 

Malfoy chewed at his cheeks in discomfort. 

 

“No, please, I’m really sorry. It’s just, you know, I--”

 

Something about the tone of his voice caused Fern to pause in her anger, and truly look at the man in front of her. What greeted her was something she hadn’t expected. Malfoy looked absolutely embarrassed and regretful, something she’d previously never seen before. 

 

“I--, well, we all know I’m not the best with words. I’m actually not the best at anything to do with other people. Please, I know you won’t believe me, but I truly am sorry. I didn’t mean a word, I--”

 

He looked even more uncomfortable as he spoke the last few words.

 

“I--I don’t do well with rejection, it seems. I know that I’ve been a terror for most of my life, but I’m working on fixing it. Recovery from being a total arse is harder than I previously thought.”

 

He joked, laughing shakily at the end. Fern stood stalk still. She felt like her eyes and ears were betraying her. Before she could say anything he looked at her, his demeanor seemingly changing back to one Fern was more comfortable with. 

 

“Please, allow me to take you for coffee. I’d disgrace the Malfoy name if I didn’t.”

 

For whatever reason, maybe it was the complete change in character that threw her, but Fern answered immediately.

 

“Well, we couldn’t have that.”

 

\--

 

Fern fretted with her scarf, tugging on the bottom pieces, sitting in her lap. Malfoy returned shortly, one coffee cup in each hand, as he sat down in front of her. 

 

“Not to beat a dead horse, but what _exactly_ about my gift set you off? I’d like to avoid getting killed by a witch in the near future, so I’d be glad to know.”

 

Fern took a sip and shifted uncomfortably. She’d never seen Malfoy so completely unguarded and honest before, a part of her, wanted to show him the same courtesy. 

 

“Well, er, it wasn’t the gift, per-say. It was the whole meaning behind it.”

 

Malfoy looked completely lost and flabbergasted at that moment, so, she continued.

 

“You sent me that note to Goyle, and then that cheeky little note about ‘capturing his heart’ or some bullocks like that, and I just felt made fun of.”

 

Malfoy blanched at her statement, and then a look of perplexion replaced it, his eyebrow raising.

 

“You think I’d buy you the most expensive dress in all of _Twilfitt and Tattings_ to simply make _fun of you_? I know I’ve done some mean things in my past, but I assure you, I don’t go out and buy things for people I want to embarrass. I can do that for free.”

 

It was Fern’s turn to look perplexed, and, she felt red rise to her cheeks.

 

“Well, then _what_  did you buy it for then?”

 

Malfoy huffed, looking a bit put-off.

 

“As a gift, as I’ve said at least a million times now. It was meant to _simply be a gift_. We’ve been working partners for sometime now, unbeknownst to the two of us, and I only wanted to do something nice.”

 

Fern frowned and then gave a short laugh. Malfoy looked back at her, incredulously. 

 

“Well, forgive me if I don’t automatically assume _Draco Malfoy_ is giving me gifts to be _nice_ . _Nice_ is not what I’ve known you to be.”

 

He frowned, his brows furrowing.

 

“What ever do you mean? I’ve always been nice to you.”

 

Fern frowned.

 

“You made Ron eat slugs.”

 

“Actually, he tried to make _me_ eat slugs, but that’s not really the point here.”

 

“You made ‘Potter Stinks’ pins and told him you hoped he’d die.”

 

“Yes, and I seem to remember a disguised Barty Crouch Jr turning me into a ferret for it, but again, that’s not really-”

 

“You called Hermione a Mudbloo-”

 

Draco stopped her by slamming his hand on the table. Fern jumped a little and realized how frustrated he looked.

 

“-What I fail to see, is how any of that, was directed at _you_.”

 

He finally finished, looking a bit frazzled. He gave her no room for a response and began talking rapidly.

 

“In 4th year, you nearly added beetle eye instead of Billywig slime to our Wiggenweld potion, and I stopped you.”

  
  
“Well, yes, but that was one time and--”

 

“You also almost took your fingers off attempting to cut Wolfsbane, and I corrected you.”

 

“Yes, those were both the same class, I remember, but--”

 

“6th year you cried in the prefects bathroom at nearly midnight, after you and Theo had a fight, and I covered for you when Filch came sniffing around.”

 

“Wait, what, I didn’t know--”

 

“I’ve been nice to you, Fern.”

 

She opened her mouth to retort, but just shut it again, in complete shock. Malfoy got up abruptly, shoved his hands in his pockets, and produced the parcel she’d received this morning. 

 

“I understand if you don’t want it, but I sincerely meant it as a gift in good faith. Even though I’m sure you hate me, I would truly love for you to wear it. I’ll leave it here, if you decide to."

 

He put it on the table and Fern simply stared, still too mixed up to speak.

 

“I need to get ready for the fundraiser tonight and, I’ll stop stalking you, as you so _nicely_ put it. Have a nice afternoon, _Ms.Fawley_.”

 

And with that, Draco Malfoy had fled the shop. Fern waited a few seconds to let out the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Her fingers opened the parcel, seemingly on their own, to reveal the dress once more.

 

Well, it really _was_ the most beautiful dress Fern had ever seen.

 

She certainly hadn’t seen anything _better_.

 


	4. Episode 4: The Fundraiser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone whose taken the time to read this, comment, and leave kudos! It means a lot to me! I will attempt to keep this updated at least once a week, but I appreciate the support!

If the fundraiser had been anything other than extravagantly _garish_ , Fern would’ve been _supremely_ let down. Thankfully, it seemed Malfoy didn’t disappoint. The ballroom had been impeccably decorated, which, Fern thought was a bit overboard since it had been plenty nice before. The Manor had a very gothic feel about it. Malfoy had amped it up with a bit of magical mood lighting, adding darkly dressed tables, and dining ware to the mix.

However, the green roses in the middle of the tables really solidified it as a distinctly _Slytherin_ affair. One look told her exactly the type of clientele Malfoy had doubtlessly invited. The thought of having to speak and pretend to be civil with pig-faced Pansy Parkinson caused Fern to openly want to wretch. However, she wasn’t there to ogle or chat everyone up. She was reminded of this yet again by Harry Potter, as he called out to her, a bit annoyed.

 

“Fawley...did you get all that?”

 

He said, fidgeting with her dress for the millionth time. She sighed deeply, swatting his hands away a bit.

 

“Yes, yes, I got it. I’m to _entertain_ Mr. Goyle and try to get him to admit to knowing about the breach.”

 

Harry pursed his lips, as he reached forward again and tapped on the wire inside of Fern’s dress, wincing a bit. 

 

“Well, I see the wire works. Not that I had any doubt after the other four tests.”

 

Fern said, watching as Ron paced beside them. Harry shot Fern a look right before Ron spoke up.

 

“‘Arry are you sure this is going to work? I mean you’d have to be a _bloody idiot_ to show up to such an _obvious_ trap and--”

 

Malfoy’s smooth voice cut in and Ron’s shoulders tightened at the sound.

 

“Good thing for us, Goyle _is_ a bloody idiot. He’ll show up, believe you me, if only to rub in our faces he _managed_ to get _any_ sort of date.”

 

Ron kept his mouth shut, but didn’t look too happy about his and Malfoys proximity. Harry stood from beside Fern and cleared his throat, sensing the budding tension.

 

“Well, right, seems like everything’s sorted on our end. Fawley, Malfoy, I think it’s about time for the guests to arrive. Ron and I will be hiding in the study if you need us. Remember, we’ll be watching everything from there.”

 

Fern felt the bubbles of anxiety and fear begin in her stomach until she felt Malfoy speak beside her.

 

“Well, shall we?”

 

Malfoy offered her his elbow to hold onto, and despite the fact she’d normally be loathe to touch him, she was too nervous to decline. She gripped his arm and gulped, unsure of how the night was going to play out. Fern had never worked undercover, _hell_ ,she’d never done anything even _remotely_ like this in her twenty three years of living. She was sure she was going to muck _something_ up. She felt the fear begin to take over as they started walking into the already chatty sounding ballroom.

 

“ _Relax_ , Fawley. Potter and Weasel are standing by if anything should go wrong, and most importantly, _me_ . All you have to do is be _every_ bit as _charming_ as you usually are, and I’m _sure_ , Goyle will be like putty in your hands.”

 

Fern whipped her head up to see a cool and collected Malfoy, talking softly between his teeth at her, his eyes never leaving the door that was opening before them. He looked calm and completely in control and she felt herself relaxing despite herself. As the doors opened, she steeled herself, and walked confidently through with Malfoy at her side.

 

* * *

 

Malfoy gave a short and well rehearsed speech before the party and schmoozing commenced. Afterwards, he’d walked over and dropped a glass of champagne into Fern’s awaiting hands, his eyes surveying the room. However, once they reached her they paused, giving her a once over. 

 

“I see you decided to humor me and wear the dress. It looks absolutely--”

 

Malfoy started but, before he could finish, another voice finished for him.

 

“-breathtaking. Hello, Ms. Fawley, may I steal you?”

 

Fern turned to come face to face with Gregory Goyle. He looked much the same, much to her chagrin. He was still a bit chubby and resembled a pig to an alarming degree, but he did look a bit more well-kempt, a little more matured. It seemed Goyle certainly hadn’t been hurting any since the war had concluded. Fern gulped her drink before plastering the most sincere smile she could muster. 

 

“Goyle.”

 

Malfoy’s voice came out stern, his pale eyes hawk-like, and severe. 

 

“Malfoy, a pleasure, as always.”

 

Goyle bit out, looking a bit uneasy. Malfoy sipped his drink, never letting his eyes leave Goyle, before putting on his trademark smirk.

 

“Likewise, please, Ms. Fawley, don’t keep your date waiting on my behalf.”

 

Fern remembered herself and shakily laughed.

 

“Oh, er, right, yes. Mr. Goyle, shall we?”

 

Goyle offered her his arm and she took it, feeling a fresh layer of sweat starting to break out. 

 

She had no idea what she was doing.

 

* * *

 

Goyle turned out to be every bit as repulsive as Fern remembered him being. For instance, within the first few minutes, he’d already revealed himself to be much unchanged. 

 

“What I don’t understand--”

 

Goyle had began, his nose upturned, face scrunched up in disgust.

 

“--is why Malfoy would invite some of our more _unsavory contemporaries_.” 

 

As impressed as Fern was that Goyle even knew the word “unsavory” or “contemporaries”, she felt equal parts hatred bubble up inside of her. It took every last bit of her strength to swallow it down and force a smile onto her face.

 

“What ever do you mean?”

 

“All of the _mudbloods_ , of course. I half expect to see _Granger_ rounding a corner. I knew Malfoy had sold out to _The Ministry_ , no offense, but I didn’t know it was _this_ bad.”

 

Fern gripped her drink hard, she was honestly afraid she’d break it, forcing herself to take deep breaths and focus on her mission.

 

“I see. I’m sure the guest list was heavily influenced by _The Ministry_. They’ve been a bit touchy since the breach. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

 

Goyle gave her a strange look before nodding.

 

“Yeah, I read about it, in _The Prophet_.”

 

 _Surprising you can even read at all_ , Fern thought, but pushed it out to think of her next move. Two things were made very clear by Goyle’s face and tone. One, was that he was dodging her, and two, he definitely knew about _something_.

 

“You know what bothers me? I work in _The Ministry_ near that vault and they never even told me what was stolen, or how it was even stolen. If you ask me, I think they’re just inept and don’t want to look stupid.”

 

Fern felt like she’d just forced venom out of her mouth, but the results were spectacular. Goyle laughed, pulling her a bit closer, and Fern had to fight every instinct in her body telling her to run.

 

“They are _bloody_ stupid. All it took was a bit of music and they were goners. _Easier than stealing from a baby._ ”

 

Fern felt her whole body go rigid and felt Goyle’s do the same. 

 

_He knows about the music box. There’s only one way he’d know..._

 

“Music…?”

 

Fern asked, playing stupid, as Goyle seemed to curse himself. He lowered his face and Fern was afraid for two seconds he meant to kiss her, but he aimed higher, and ended up near her ear.

 

“Fern, something is happening, _something big_ and I want to tell you about it so you--”

 

Just as Goyle was about to, presumably tell her everything, they were interrupted.  

 

“Goyle.”

 

Fern felt Goyle wince and straighten back up, allowing her to see one Blaise Zabini, standing before them. Zabini was one of the people Fern not only actively avoided, but distinctly disliked. His reputation alone would do that, of course, with how ruthless and calculating he was known to be. However, her hatred for him was a bit more _personal_.

 

It had been in sixth year, right before the shit had hit the proverbial fan, Theo had been invited to be apart of Slughorn’s infamous dinners. Well, _almost invited_ , that is. Apparently, Slughorn had come across Blaise Zabini on the _Hogwarts Express_ , and had inquired about Theo’s parents. 

 

Zabini could’ve thwarted Slughorn’s attempt, or at the very least, come up with a very muddled answer. However, he did neither of those things. Instead, he’d very pompously informed him that Theo’s father was currently in Azkaban, charged with being a Death Eater. Zabini didn’t do this because he disagreed with the Death Eaters, no, _definitely_ not. He did this because he was ambitious. He knew Slughorn would invite him instead of Theo, and thus, Zabini was able to join the _Slug Club._  

 

Theo hadn’t wanted to confront Zabini about his betrayal, in fear of further retribution, but Fern had been adamant he should. This caused a fight that led Fern to run to the prefects bathroom to cry, and where apparently, Malfoy had been generous enough to cover for her. Ever since then Fern had an acute disliking for Zabini that was rivaled only by her loathing for Malfoy himself. 

 

“Zabini. I believe you’re interrupting me and _my date_.”

 

Goyle said, looking a bit smug, eyeing Zabini as if he were trash. However, he looked unphased. 

 

“ _Your_ date, you say?”

 

He said, simply, eyeing Fern at his side. Goyle’s face scrunched up in annoyance and then pacified, seemingly remembering something, and then spoke with an air of superiority. 

 

“Yes, my date. Ms. Fawley sent me a _personal_ invitation about a week ago.”

 

Zabini raised his perfectly manicured eyebrow with some degree of humor written across his dark features.

 

“My, how _truly_ unbelievable that is. Are you sure you read that correctly?”

 

Goyle seemed to be steaming from the ears as Zabini reached across the way, grabbing Fern’s unoccupied hand, and bringing it to his lips. She wanted to wretch it free and hex him where he stood, but for now, she simply stared at him in thinly veiled annoyance.

 

“Now Goyle, be a good man and get your date a drink. I believe I’d like to cut in for a dance.”

 

There was something about Zabini that put Fern on edge. His tone was nothing but polite, but behind his dark eyes, was an intensity that put the hair on her neck on end. Goyle must’ve thought the same. He took the glass from Fern’s hand, which was wanting, and huffed.

 

“You have exactly three minutes, Zabini. You’re lucky I was already going to suggest getting her more champagne. If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Fawley.”

 

Goyle said marching off towards the tables, as Zabini straightened up, letting go of Fern’s hand.

 

“Would you care to dance, Ms. Fawley? I believe I’ve got a few _pressing_ questions for you. They _simply_ couldn’t wait.”

 

Zabini’s eyes could cut diamonds and she felt herself sweating under his gaze. He offered his hand,  Fern gulped, before taking it reluctantly.

 

“Er, sure. I can’t imagine what questions you’d possibly have for me. We’ve never even spoken to each other before.”

 

She found herself saying, as Zabini aggressively pulled her forward, into a more intimate dancing position.

 

“Don’t be silly, these questions aren’t really about _you_ , darling, they’re about Malfoy.”

 

* * *

 

Zabini commanded their dancing much like she’d expected, he made it look effortless, and was completely overpowering. She was, simply at his mercy, as he began to thoroughly interrogate her. 

 

“Now, my first question, why is Malfoy throwing this party for you?”

 

Fern swallowed, steeling her nerves. 

 

“You already know the answer. He wanted to donate to my-”

 

“Ah, ah, a Malfoy _never does anything for free_ , Ms. Fawley. Let’s try that again.”

 

Fern snapped her mouth shut as Zabini stared back at her with a knowing look. It seemed Goyle was much easier manipulated than he was, which wasn't a surprise. Zabini’s intellect was far superior in every way, and worse yet, he was used to this sort of thing. She was sure Zabini had had a million other girls in exactly the same spot she was in currently. 

 

“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Zabini, but that’s the truth of it. Malfoy is donating to my foundation as it’s simply a good investment.”

 

“Are you dating him, then? Is that it?”

 

Fern almost choked on her spit.

 

“No, no, _not at all._ _Never_. Our partnership is strictly business.”

 

Zabini’s eyes narrowed a fraction as he spun her around once, her back ending up to his, his mouth nearly touching her ear.

 

“Don’t seem too offended, darling, Malfoy is out of your league.”

 

Fern felt red hot anger erupted in her as he spun her back around to face him. 

 

“I beg your pardon.”

 

Zabini appeared distracted as he responded to her, his eyes shifting between her face, and behind her. Though, his eyes still held the same intensity. 

 

“I’ll make this as clear as I can, Ms. Fawley. _The Ministry_ needs to leave Malfoy alone. If I smell anything _remotely fishy_ to do with your relationship, something detrimental to him, I won’t hesitate to _come after you_.”

 

Fern scoffed and began to reply, but was unable to.

 

“Blaise, my friend, how nice to see you again.”

 

Malfoy’s voice cut in as he worked his way between Fern and Zabini. Zabini seemed to drop whatever intensity he’d had previously, and took Malfoy’s outstretched hand, shaking it heartily.

 

“Draco. It’s been too long since I’ve been to a party at your lovely home. How is Ms. Malfoy?”

 

Zabini, for his part, seemed to be being genuine. However, Malfoy looked put off. 

 

“It has been, Blaise. She’s doing well, thank you. I’m sorry to cut this short, but Ms. Fawley is needed for a speech. Perhaps we can set up a date for tea for later this week.”

 

Zabini seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, then smiled, a sinister smile.

 

“Yes, I’d like that. However, more importantly, Ms. Fawley informed me that she’s arrived at this party unattended.”

 

“She’s actually come with Goyle.”

 

“I’d hardly call _Goyle_ a suitable date for her. I was going to offer myself as a substitute for tonight's affa-”

 

“ _She’s unavailable, Blaise._ ”

 

Malfoy looked positively enraged, the words coming out through his teeth. Fern stepped in.

 

“Ahem. Sorry, Mr. Zabini, but Malfoy’s right. I came here with Goyle. We should get to our speech, then.”

 

Zabini gave Malfoy a knowing look, as Fern began to pull Malfoy away, towards the stage.

 

“Certainly. Don’t forget what I’ve said here tonight, Ms. Fawley. Draco, good to see you looking well, until next time.”

 

Zabini returned to where he’d come from, presumably. Fern watched as an angry looking Pansy Parkinson caught up to him, grabbing him by the arm, before they were out of view entirely.

 

“Unbelievable.”

 

Malfoy’s enraged voice was the first thing that greeted Fern’s ears, she blinked before looking back up at him, as they made their way towards the stage. 

 

“You’re supposed to be talking to Goyle and I find you not twenty minutes later _flirting_ with Blaise.”

 

Fern felt her anger redouble.

 

“I beg your pardon, but Zabini and I were _not_ flirting.”

 

Draco clenched his teeth.

 

“It sure looked as if you were to me.”

 

“If you must know, Zabini only wanted to _threaten me_ , and _question me_ as to why we’re _really_ throwing this fundraiser.”

 

Draco whirled around, coming to a complete stop, causing Fern to almost run right into him. 

 

“And I’m sure you were _all too willing_ to get yourself into that situation with him. You’re here for one reason, Fern. _Do your job_.”

 

Fern clenched her fist’s, straining to keep her voice down.

 

“What are you even doing this for? Zabini made it clear to me that Malfoy’s only do things for something in return. So what _exactly_ are you getting for this?”

 

Malfoy nearly growled, grabbing her by both shoulders, his voice coming out in puffs against her cheek. He spoke quietly, but with the most exasperated tone she’d ever heard him have, said between clenched teeth.

 

“ _The Ministry_ offered my father immunity from _The Kiss_ and a reduced sentence for helping them, as well as staying out of jail, myself. There, are you happy now? Is it better now that you know I’m not doing it ‘out of the kindness of my heart’? That I’m every bit the demon you remember from school? Whatever makes this go smoother, _Fern_ . Now, if we can just get this over with so I can go back to simply turning in artifacts and living my life, that’d be _splendid_.”

 

Fern wanted to yell at him, but instead she felt tears well in her eyes, and shoved his hands away from her. Just as she finally found her words, she heard gasps from around them, as the lights simultaneously went out, leaving them in complete darkness.

* * *

 

The darkness was absolute and Fern felt herself getting pushed around in the panic that ensued. She heard Draco’s voice call out to her, but was unable to really tell from where.

 

“Fern!”

 

She attempted to call back, but was instead elbowed in the ribs, causing her to fall to the floor. She feared being trampled and reached for her wand, but then suddenly, a bright light hit the ceiling. She gasped as she saw the skull appear, the snakes around it, crawling in and out of its mouth. The Dark Mark was being projected against Malfoy Manor’s ceiling, illuminating the crowd as they struggled to get away. Fern got to her feet, wand in hand, just in time to see dark clouds shoot out from the ceiling onto the floor. And there was the unmistakable appearance, of people in deathly masks, cloaked, wands drawn. 

 

“Take cover!”

 

Fern heard Harry call out to her as he and Ron began to engage the enemy. Malfoy sprung into action as well as they all began to take blows. Fern felt her hand shaking, but one of the masked individuals took notice of her, walking forward, wand drawn.

 

“Expelliarmus!” 

 

Fern was quicker, however, sending them flying backwards. There were about ten of them she could see in the dim light, and hurriedly took cover behind an overturned table. She could hear the fight taking place between the Death Eater impersonators and Harry, Ron, and Malfoy, but she couldn’t see it. She felt a spell whizz by her ear and jumped back from her cover, nearly breaking her ankle in her heels. She realized, with horror, she was now out in the open. One of the masked figures raised its wand, and before Fern could think, sent her flying backwards onto the ground. She felt the impact and cried out to hear Malfoy’s voice answer.

 

“Fern!”

 

Harry and Ron were still fully occupied, taking on at least seven of them, head on. Malfoy skidded toward her running, as the masked figure who’d sent her flying, now stood over her. She drew her own wand as they stared at each other, but instead of finishing her off, they turned around to face Malfoy. Malfoy attempted to hex them, but they were too fast, and instead sent him flying backwards with wordless magic. 

 

“Draco!”

 

Fern cried, then took this opportunity to hex them while their back was turned, but she felt her wand leave her hands before she could do so. It was sent flying to the side with one wave of their cloaked hand and Fern looked up in horror. 

 

“Don’t touch her!”

 

She heard Malfoy’s voice coming from behind the cloaked figure, but was unable to see him, and he sounded like he was in pain. Whoever they were paid him no mind. A gloved hand reached out and Fern looked away, expecting to be Avada’d in the next moment, but it never came. Instead, they reached for her forearm, forcing her back up onto her feet. They stood like that, this person holding her arm, for a few terrifying seconds. Then, they let go, walking backwards, and disappearing into a cloud of smoke. 

 

All that Fern could see once they dissipated was the destruction they left in their wake, the Dark Mark still dancing on Malfoy’s ballroom ceiling, as if it were mocking them.

  



	5. Episode 5: The Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to all who continue to read and support me! It means a lot! I'm hoping to get one more chapter out of me before my vacation has ended! I hope you enjoy the new chapter :)

After the fiasco at Malfoy Manor, _The Ministry_ had taken over immediately, a gaggle of them rushing into action. Fern hadn’t had a moment to process everything before Malfoy had been taken away on a stretcher, unconscious, and bleeding. She stood stock still in the destruction of what had just happened, staring emptily in the spot Malfoy had been, which still glistened with his fresh blood. She felt herself get dizzy until Harry had came up and touched her arm gently.

 

“Fern...are you alright?”

 

Fern felt her consciousness snap back into her brain and she sucked in a good amount of air before responding. 

 

“Uh, yes, sorry, I’m just a bit shook up. Is Malfoy going to be…?”

 

She asked, afraid to know the answer. It wasn’t but a few minutes before they’d been in a heated argument but now, curiously, all she felt was an immense sense of guilt. Harry nodded.

 

“Malfoy will be alright. We’ve sent him to St. Mungos, but his wounds aren’t life threatening. I’m sure he’ll be out in a few days.”

 

Fern shot Harry a strange look.

 

“A few... _days_?”

 

It was Harry’s turn to feel uncomfortable, looking anxious, as he played with the hair on the base of his neck.

 

“Er, well, we’ve got to question him before we let him go. I mean, we did just see Death Eaters in his home, after all. And well, you know his history.”

 

Fern felt anger bubble up in her, strangely, her eyes narrowing.

 

“You know as well as I do that Malfoy helped setup this _entire_ event. He’s done _nothing_ but help the ministry. Why in _Merlins_ name would he want to work with the Death Eater impersonators?”

 

Harry gave a small smile before letting his hand rest on her shoulder, reassuringly.

 

“Calm down, Fern. I know that, but it can’t be helped. It’s just a formality.”

 

Fern swatted his hand away, turning her back to him, gritting her teeth.

 

“Is this how it's always going to be, Harry? You ask for _our_ help and then turn around and accuse us? Cause I’ve got to tell you, it’ll get _bloody old, fast_.”

 

Harry winced behind her just as Ron walked up.

 

“C’mon ‘Arry, we’ve got to work on our profile for Goyle.”

 

This caused Fern to pivot in their direction.

 

“Goyle? You mean he _got away?_ _After all of that?_ ”

 

Ron bit his lip, looking at Harry, who sighed.

 

“He gave us the slip during the commotion. Our main concern was making sure everyone got away safely.”

 

She sighed, putting a hand to her head, visibly deflated.

 

“I see. I guess I can understand that.”

 

She said, a bit huffy.

 

“Now, if you don’t need anything else, I’d like to go home. This entire situation has left me completely knackered.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“We’ll let you know as soon as Malfoy is up.”

 

Fern started walking away, her back turned to Harry, as he spoke up again.

 

“But there’s one more thing that's bothering me. That Death Eater, the one who attacked Malfoy, why do you think they left you unharmed? They had every chance to finish you off. It just seems... _odd_.”

 

Fern’s shoulders tightened a fraction, as she stopped dead in her tracks, her voice tense.

 

“ _Haven’t the foggiest._ ”

 

She said, as she disapparated away.

 

Harry rubbed his chin afterward, looking at the spot she’d previously been in, his face pensive.

 

“‘Arry, c’mon, we’ve gotta get going. Goyle’s probably already on the move.”

 

Harry sighed, still not looking at Ron.

 

“Yeah, course, you’re right. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Pixie felt warm against Fern’s side, who felt cold, no matter how many blankets she added to her bed that night. She kept replaying the events of the day in her head, over and over, again. Malfoy crying out for her, him flying backwards, the deathly mask inches from her face, the Dark Mark glowing eerily on the ceiling, and the cool hands of the Death Eater who’d touched her. She shivered in the darkness, pressing Pixie closer, who gave a short mew of protest. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next morning, she woke up to the sound of rustling paper. 

 

She blinked open her eyes, finding her illuminated apartment bedroom, and sighed deeply. She let her vision unblur before she looked up into her living room. The rustling noise were identified as two letters stuck in her chimney, attempting to free themselves, pitifully. They seemed to see her awake and jumped with joy, rustling harder still, attempting to get her to assist them. She groaned, dragging her tired body out of bed, wobbling over to where they were.

 

“ _Blooming_ chimney, _bloody_ letters.”

 

She mumbled to herself as she freed them, sighing with contentment, immensely grateful the noise had ceased. 

 

“Now let’s see who wanted to get in touch with me so badly, shall we…?”

 

She said to herself softly as Pixie, no doubt begging her for his breakfast, came up and nuzzled her leg. She scooped him up in her unoccupied hand, taking him with her, as she sat gingerly on her couch. The first one, it seemed, was from Zoe. She smiled softly, opening it.

 

“ _Dearest Fern,_

 

 _I heard about the party last night at Malfoy Manor and I wanted to check to make sure you were alright. I told you associating with that miserable git was bad news. I’m sure he’s up to something with these Death Eater impersonators. Please respond back as soon as you can, Fern, I’m really worried here!_ __  
  
With lots of love,

 

 _Zoe._ ”

 

Fern felt both parts annoyance and immense gratitude towards her letter. It was sweet Zoe had immediately felt the need to check in on her, but her ideas about Malfoy, really set her off. It was true that he’d not been the best person in school, but things were different now, weren’t they? Fern’s mind went to the last conversation she had with him.

 

 _The Ministry_ _offered my father immunity from_ _The Kiss_ _and a reduced sentence for helping them, as well as staying out of jail, myself. There, are you happy now? Is it better now that you know I’m not doing it ‘out of the kindness of my heart’? That I’m every bit the demon you remember from school? Whatever makes this go smoother,_ _Fern_ _. Now, if we can just get this over with so I can go back to simply turning in artifacts and living my life, that’d be_ _splendid._

 

She clenched her fists as she recalled, her jaw going tight. She hurriedly put the letter away, intent on owling her back after she finished reading the next one, and feeding Pixie, of course. She looked at the next letter, which was very peculiar. It was black with gold cursive lettering that read; “ _To Ms. Fern, from one Ms. Pansy Parkinson._ ”

 

Fern felt her eyes bug out of her head. _What the hell could Parkinson want with me?_ She wondered. Then, she remembered how angry she’d looked after her and Blaise had parted ways. She gulped, afraid to find some kind of horrible howler underneath the pretty gold writing, and opened the letter. However, nothing came out at her, so she simply read it instead. The paper inside was normal, white, albeit written quite beautifully in the same gold longhand as the cover.

 

“ _Dear Ms. Fawley,_

 

 _I understand that you and I have never spoken before, and that this letter might find you a bit confused, but I believe it’s time we’ve had a chat. I have a few concerns and matters I’d like to address with you, in person, if it can be arranged. I’d like to extend a friendly invitation for you to come to my home this afternoon at 4pm, for coffee and biscuits. My address is attached at the bottom._ __  
  
I do hope you’ll consider my invitation,

 

 _Pansy Parkinson._ ”

 

Fern felt her mouth go dry as she finished reading it, a feeling of dread settling in, at the bottom of her stomach. _Was she upset about Blaise? Or was she upset about Malfoy? Or was this about Goyle, somehow?_ She wondered, her mind pulling her in a million different directions. She pondered it silently for a few moments, her hand to her chin, in thought.

 

“Well Pixie, should I go to the _mean-wittle-pig-faced_ girls house?”

 

She said, as she scratched the spot under his chin, making him purr in delight. Fern wasn’t sure exactly what Parkinson was up to, but she wasn’t uninterested. What if she had information that could help them with the breach? She couldn’t pass that up. She wondered idly if she should contact Harry and Ron, but then her face darkened. She didn’t much like the way they were handling Malfoy, or anyone associated with Slytherin or the Death Eaters. _No, better to leave them out of this._ She thought. She got up, letting Pixie slide off her lap unhappily, to retrieve some parchment, a quill, and a bit of ink.

 

Besides, if it ended up being nothing, she could always just leave, right?

 

* * *

 

Fern showed up to Pansy Parkinson’s house at exactly 4:03pm that day, standing awkwardly at her front door. She was still deciding on whether she should leave or not when the door opened on its own, frazzling her. It produced a short, knobby looking house-elf who opened the door a crack, it’s slightly buggy eyes peering at her, suspiciously. 

 

“Pibsey would like to know whos you are please.”

 

Fern straightened up a bit, fretting with the end of her tweed skirt, nervously.

 

“Oh, er, hi Pibsey, I’m Fern Fawley. I was invited by Ms. Parkinson for coffee…?”

 

She said, still unsure if Parkinson had meant to even send that letter to her. The house-elf thought for a moment before nodding vigorously.

 

“Pibsey was wonderin’ when you’d show up. Come, this way. Pibsey already brought coffee out for the twos of yous.”

 

She said, not sparing a moment for Fern, and simply pivoting to walk deeper into the confines of Parkinson’s home. Fern gulped and followed after her, looking around curiously, as she struggled to keep up. Parkinson’s house was what Fern had expected. It was dark, finely furnished, and spectacularly gothic looking. It had high ceilings with ornately detailed wallpaper, some green colored floor to ceiling mosaic windows, and portraits of snobby looking witches and wizards hung here and there. They all had the same snout of a nose as Parkinson, and if Fern had to take a guess, they were definitely her relatives. 

 

Pibsey finally came to a stop when they entered a cosey drawing room, a fresh fire lit, with two black couches facing one another. Pibsey was right, there was a complete setup for coffee and biscuits in the table between the couches, and Parkinson sat perched on the one directly facing her. She looked much the same, her stark black hair hanging from her face like curtains, the same piercing dark eyes, but she didn’t look nearly as menacing as Fern remembered. She was dressed in some sort of silk evening gown, black, and light on her body. She looked somewhat casual, her legs curled underneath her, and her hair tied into a haphazard bun, her heels discarded to her left on the floor. 

 

She also looked downright distressed, which threw Fern through a loop.

 

“Hello Ms. Fawley, I’m so glad you decided to meet with me.”

 

Her voice reeled Fern back in, and she hopped over to the couch, taking a seat hurriedly.

 

“Well, yes, I was just curious as to what exactly was so pressing that you needed to owl me first thing this morning, is all.”

 

Fern said, wanting it to come out more menacing, but instead it came out as a bit uncertain. 

 

“Coffee?”

 

Parkinson asked, gesturing towards the fine assortment Pibsey had provided for them. Fern simply stared.

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“I see. Well, I guess we should get straight to it then.”

 

“That would be nice.”

 

Parkinson pursed her lips before speaking.

 

“It’s about Draco--”

 

Fern frowned and cut her off, standing abruptly. For some reason, Parkinson also stood, looking a bit perturbed.

 

“I knew it. Save it Parkinson, Malfoy and I are just business partners, nothing more, so if you’ll excuse me--”

 

Fern began to turn to leave when Parkinson yelled back at her.

 

“Please, stop. I, I didn’t come here to ask about the state of your relationship with Draco. I just, I---”

 

Parkinson’s voice wobbled, but Fern still didn’t stop.

 

“I--I know Draco’s an informant.”

 

 _This_ caused Fern to stop and whip her around to look at her. Parkinson looked extremely upset, the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Fern never recalled seeing her like this before, so she sat back down, a bit dumbfounded. 

 

“You--how do you know that?”

 

Parkinson let out a deep sigh of relief and sat back down, a cross look on her face.

 

“Never mind that, that’s not the important part here. I’m worried about Draco and his involvement with _The Ministry_.”

 

Fern tilted her head in confusion.

 

“Why would I have anything to do with that…? Malfoy being an informant, of which I’d be _very_ curious to know how you knew about that at all, is out of my jurisdiction. _Hell_ , _I_ shouldn’t even know about it.”

 

She asked, watching Parkinson pick up her coffee, sipping a heavy amount of it down. Fern could see how dark her undereye circles were then, and wondered if she’d gotten any sleep lately.

 

“It’s not about _you_ , Fawley. I’d much prefer it to be _myself_ , or _Blaise_ , but that’s not how the cards were dealt. You’re the one that, for whatever reason, Draco is speaking with. And, I know you work for _The Ministry_ . I also know that you can, to put it delicately, _understand_ where we’re coming from. You’re a Slytherin, whose parents were suspected Death Eaters, and labelled as such. I can trust you to have the _right_ perspective on this.”

 

Fern’s eyes narrowed a fraction, her nails digging into her skirt.

 

“And what _perspective_ is that, exactly?”

 

Parkinson let out an annoyed huff of air.

 

“I’m not your enemy, Fawley. I’d _appreciate_ a bit of civility. All I’m getting at is that you don’t look at Draco and see a monster. I saw you two the other night, you know. I can tell you can see past some of his less than savory behavior.”

 

Fern’s frown deepened.

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Parkinson. He let me know exactly how unchanged he was last night. He told me that the only reason he even did this was to make sure he stayed out of Azkaban. He doesn’t really care about fixing his image or his attitude.”

 

Parkinson’s eyes narrowed and her perfectly manicured hands gripped her coffee cup with a vengeance.

 

“Come now, I know you’re not _daft_ enough to truly believe that nonsense, are you?”

 

Fern looked at her, confused.

 

“What do you mean…?”

 

“Draco’s got a very clever way of knowing exactly what a person doesn’t want to hear, is what I mean. I don’t doubt he’s doing this for himself, but I don’t think it's Azkaban that’s motivating him. Has it ever crossed your mind that he might be remorseful? Perhaps even _deeply_ so?”

 

Fern’s eyes widened a bit, as she watched a look of sadness cross her face.

 

“I’m worried, Fawley. People are _whispering_ things again, _dark things_ . I worry that as soon as _The Ministry_ is backed into a corner, they’ll use Draco as a scapegoat.”

 

Her eyebrows were drawn as she picked up a biscuit and plopped it into her mouth. Fern simply watched, transfixed, eating up what she was saying.

 

“Worse yet, I know that he feels guilty, guilty enough to simply _let it happen_ . He’d probably even be accepting of it, think it’s what he deserves. I can’t let that happen. I _won’t_ let that happen.”

 

She said, her voice getting a bit louder, with each sentence.

 

“I brought you here today because you’re somebody I can trust to look after him. Someone who he’ll listen to. Someone within _The Ministry_ who can vouch for him. Blaise and I simply can’t do that for him, so here I am, begging for your help instead.”

 

For once, Fern was stricken completely speechless. Although loathe to admit it, Parkinson had some valid worries. She remembered how quick Harry was to accuse Malfoy of stealing the book, and how quick they were to question him after last night. 

 

“Dark...things? Scapegoat…?”

 

“Yes, Fawley, not so quick on the uptake are we? We had Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor again, did we not?”

 

Fern snapped her mouth shut and then felt her eyebrows draw together. She felt something click within her, then.

 

“And if I were to help Malfoy, and do as you say, you’d owe me wouldn’t you?”

 

Parkinson stopped chewing and a nasty look crossed her face.

 

“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, and all you can think of is what favors I can do for you later? My, my, how very _Slytherin_ of you.”

 

Fern frowned deeper, an annoyed look spreading across her face.

 

“I just wanted to ask if you’d know where Goyle would run off to, if he were trying not to be found.”

 

Parkinson resumed her chewing, taking a sip of her coffee again, looking as if she were mulling it over. She stood, grabbing parchment and a quill, and went to work writing.

 

“I haven’t spoken to Gregory in some time, but this might be where he’d go. If he isn’t, someone there will be more than willing to gift you with the knowledge, for a price, of course.”

 

She said, sitting back down, and sliding the note over to her. Fern looked at it, immediately recognizing it as someplace in Knockturn Alley, and pocketed it. 

 

“Well, thank you for your _hospitality_ , but I think it’s time for me to take my leave.”

 

She said, standing. Parkinson nodded, also standing, and offering her hand. Fern reluctantly took it, shaking it lightly. A look of surprise came over Parkinson, before she leapt back to her desk, producing a sealed letter. 

 

“Please, one last thing. Will you give this letter to Draco? His eyes only.”

 

She said, extending it to Fern. Fern clenched her teeth, but took it from her, pocketing it as well.

 

“Sure. I’ll make sure he gets it. I’ll give it to him once he’s released from St. Mungos.”

 

Parkinson nodded, looking a little upset still. Fern turned, not too concerned, and began walking out. 

 

“Please look after him, Fawley. I promise you he’s not the devil he’s been painted as.”

 

Fern paused, before walking towards the door.

 

“Yeah, we’ll see…”

 

* * *

 

The next day, as promised, Harry contacted Fern about Malfoy. He’d apparently been cleared by _The Ministry_ and was now conscious and well enough to have visitors. She’d vacillated between wanting to go and not wanting to ever hear his name again, but regardless, she ended up standing at the entrance to his hospital room.

 

Fern really didn’t know what to think about Malfoy. At some points he seemed changed, kinder, than he used to be. And at others, he had the most acidic tongue Fern had ever come in contact with. It gave her whiplash. She fiddled with the letter from Parkinson in her pocket, letting her cold bare fingers run across the rim, as she used her other hand to open the door. And what greeted her, was madness.

 

At first, she simply heard Malfoy screaming. It wasn’t a shout of alarm, but a deeply bone chilling scream. The kind of scream someone might give if they were dying. She ran forward in alarm, finding Malfoy being held down by at least three wizards and witches from St. Mungos. She found herself speaking before she could think.

 

“What’s wrong with him?! What’s going on?!”

 

She asked, her heart beat in her throat. The hospital staff paid her no attention as the three held him down as a fourth readied some kind of injection. She saw now that she was within spitting distance, that Malfoy had been rid of his shirt, and his entire upper body was naked to her eyes. She noticed immediately that the source of his pain was his left forearm; The Dark Mark. He was attempting to claw at it as they held him back, his screams were clearly of a man in agony, and his ragged and wild eyes suddenly rested on Fern. 

 

“Get _her_ out!”

 

He screamed, but it fell on deaf ears. Fern was too busy looking at the state of him. A sick feeling spread in her stomach as she did. Pansy Parkinson’s words rang hollowly inside of her head, back and forth, as she surveyed what was happening before her. 

 

_Has it ever crossed your mind that he might be remorseful? Perhaps even deeply so?_

 

The Dark Mark look like it had been burned off, or attempted to be burned off, several times. It also had heavy scarring around it, as if someone had tried to claw it off or worse, _cut_ it off. Not only this, but Malfoy’s entire torso that she could see was covered in healed and raised lacerations, deep ones. Her hand went to her mouth as one of the hospital staff gripped her by the shoulders. 

 

“I said _get her out of here_!”

 

Malfoy growled out through clenched teeth, his voice booming in the mostly empty room. Fern felt her body being moved away, away from the commotion. She wanted to scream for him, wanted to ask him what was happening, didn’t want to leave, but she was simply frozen. 

 

The last thing she saw before the doors closed on her were the wild of eyes of Draco Malfoy looking at her in horror, as one of the hospital staff began to give him some sort of injection, and his head lulled to the side, eyes closing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 7/19/19
> 
> It's taking longer than I expected to update this, but I intend to do so soon! Follow me on twitter if you want updates on when I post chapters! 
> 
> Twitter: @sp00kygrrrl


	6. Episode 6: New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of an update for so long! As the school year starts I'll be, regrettably, a lot busier! However, I still hope to update as often as possible. Thank you to everyone who gave kudos, comments, or simply took the time to read at all!

_“Get her out!”_

 

_“I said get her out of here!”_

 

Fern jolted upright in her bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her body, giving a small shout as she did. She sighed deeply, the words from her nightmare reverbarting inside of her head, causing her eyes to scrunch shut in frustration. It had been exactly four days since Fern had last seen Malfoy being held down at St. Mungos, writhing in pain. It had been exactly four days in a row that Fern had owled Malfoy, Harry, and Ron asking for details on what was happening with their case. And it had been exactly _four days_ that nothing, _nothing at all_ , had been said to her, from _anyone_ involved. She gripped her bed sheets in anger at the thought as she glanced over to her clock, which read 6:45am. 

 

 _Great, welcome back another day of mundane work, Fern._ She thought, flinging her legs out of the side of her bed, feeling Pixie’s distinctive fur rubbing against them. She reached down and petted behind his ear, earning a soft purring sound, and then frowned. She’d been debating on whether to ask around for the past few days, but was conflicted. Malfoy _certainly_ wasn’t any of her business, but she had made a promise to Parkinson. Even though she despised her, Fern was fiercely loyal to her word and promises, a trait about herself that she sometimes abhorred. Fern closed her eyes and could still see the state he was in, his arm massively scarred, and seemingly charred, too. She opened them feeling her heart constrict a bit, but frowned deeper, and abruptly stood. Pixie mewed in irritation in response.

 

“ _Oh hush_ , I’m just getting up to feed you, you sorry looking _fleabag_. Then, it's off to work with me, I suppose.”

 

Pixie just blinked in response. 

 

“And here I am again talking to my cat and worrying about ex-Death Eaters. What’s become of me, Pixie?”

 

Pixie only blinked in response, tilting his black furry head to one side, looking at her as if she were mental.

 

Maybe she was.

 

* * *

 

Nobody had been straight with Fern thus far, not Harry, not Ron, and _certainly not_ Malfoy. So, instead of letting her anger and questions fester anymore, she decided to corner Hermione Granger. 

 

She wasn’t a hard person to find, especially for Fern. During their last year at Hogwarts, Ron and Harry hadn’t attended, which left Hermione by herself. Fern and Zoe had found themselves to be quite friendly with Hermione, and in turn, she was also quite friendly to them as well. It turned out that with Malfoy and his goons no longer in Slytherin, opinion of them became a bit better, well, to _some_. The other half were afraid of them. They believed that everyone in Slytherin must’ve been a Death Eater, or at the very least, connected to one. Fern had to face this reality quite harshly when she was often ignored when paired up with someone from a different house in class. Or, when she went to sit with Hermione at the Gryffindor table. It wasn’t uncommon for some to get up and move, as if she had the plague. 

 

Despite this, Zoe, Fern, and Hermione began a great friendship. They were all like-minded, strong-willed, and exceptionally studious individuals. It was a natural fit. So much so, in fact, that Hermione requested them to work under her directly. And thus, Zoe and Fern began working within the Department of Mysteries shortly after Hogwarts, headed by Hermione Granger herself. Fern found Hermione in her office, her bushy hair a bit _bushier_ than normal, her eyes a little red-rimmed. Fern rasped her knuckles against the open door, causing Hermione to startle a bit, before smiling up at her from her desk.

 

“Oh, Fern, _Thank Merlin_ it’s you. If it were another person coming in with paperwork I think I would’ve hexed them where they stood.”

 

Fern then turned her attention to the massive amount of parchment sitting on top of, next to, and behind her desk, in outrageously tall piles. Fern gave her a sympathetic smile, and then closed the door behind her, taking a seat in front of Hermione.

 

“ _Blimey_ Hermione, you look--”

 

“--horrid, I know.”

 

She finished for her, sighing, and letting her head hit the wooden table. 

 

“Is it the breach?”

 

Fern asked, frowning at the state of her friend. 

 

“Well, the breach, and _other things_.”

 

Fern had an idea that Ron might be filed under “other things”, but didn’t push it too much. Daphne Greengrass _had_ been an excellent source of information on what exactly had transpired. She’d informed Fern when she’d gotten back in the office that Hermione and Ron were no longer on speaking terms. Their relationship post-Hogwarts had been turbulent, to say the least. Ron wanted more time with her and Hermione had none to give. 

 

“ _Merlin_ , look at me complaining, and I wasn’t the one _nearly killed_ last week. I was so worried for you when Ron and Harry told me about what happened.”

 

She said, sitting upright, her hazel eyes searching Fern’s pale ones.

 

“Oh, well, it was nothing. Ron, Harry, and Malfoy did an excellent job of handling the situation. It was truly no big deal.”

 

She lied a bit, biting her lip in the process. Hermione frowned, crossing her arms.

 

“ _No big deal?!_ You were hexed through the air and then pinned down by those--those-- _Death Eater impersonators_ , Fern. They could’ve killed you, easily. I told Ron it wasn’t right that they had someone with them that wasn’t trained and--”

 

Fern frowned, cutting her off a bit.

 

“Really, ‘Mione, it’s fine. I wasn’t hurt, was I?”

 

Hermione's face relaxed a bit, looking a bit guilty now for going off the rails, and sighed. 

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just, with these people back--”

 

“Well, we don’t know what they are, but I promise that I’ll be safe. Besides, all the action beats the massive amounts of paperwork at _The Ministry_ any day.”

 

Fern jested, causing Hermione to smile, her eyes a bit kinder. 

 

“Actually, I came here to ask a favor of you.”

 

Hermione frowned.

 

“Is it about Malfoy?”

 

Fern nodded, surprised that Hermione could read her so well.

 

“Well, you’ll be disappointed to know that not even Ron will tell me everything, but I can tell you what I do know. It can’t be here, though. Why don’t we meet at _Three Broomsticks_ after work and discuss it? Gods know I need a drink after all of this.”

 

She gestured to the paperwork and Fern laughed.

 

“It’s sorted then!”

 

* * *

 

Fern met Hermione promptly after work at _Three Broomsticks_. It seemed her week had been especially terrible because she arrived twenty minutes late, hailed down a bartender, and ordered a shot of firewhiskey. Fern watched as she downed it quickly, her face scrunching up, then exhaled deeply.

 

“I take it it’s been a rough one, then?”

 

Fern said, laughing a tad bit. Hermione nodded, huffing yet again.

 

“It’s been a rough two ones, actually. I’m sure you've heard, but Ron and I had a bit of a row in the middle of the office last week.”

 

Fern pursed her lips, trying her best to look convincing in her lie.

 

“Uh, no, you did?”

 

Hermione sighed deeply, settling better into her wooden chair.

 

“Oh, come off it, we both know Greengrass can’t keep her trap shut if her life depended on it.”

 

Fern laughed heartily, caught red handed.

 

“Well, er, yes she did tell me. I just would rather hear it from you, is all.”

 

Hermione frowned, fiddling with her sleeve.

 

“He doesn’t want me to run for Minister.”

 

Fern nodded thoughtfully, already aware this was likely the issue.

 

“So, it wasn’t about what Skeeter wrote, then?”

 

“Oh no, it was that too, certainly. Ron’s not exactly _in tune_ with his emotions, as we both know. This was more about me “leaving him behind”, or at least that's how he puts it, than the drivel Skeeter calls news.”

 

Hermione still wasn’t making eye contact, her hands nervously clutching her sleeve still, a clear death grip. Fern felt herself compelled to cheer her up.

 

“Well, he’s just going to have to deal with it. If he loves you, he’ll cherish the time he does have with you, instead of dwelling on the time he doesn’t have.”

 

Hermione nodded, a small smile forming on her features, and then turned to face Fern.

 

“Anyways, we didn’t come here to discuss Ron and me. What exactly is it that you want to know so badly about Malfoy?”

 

Fern fidgeted, uncomfortable with the subject turning to her.

 

“Well, it’s just, when I was at St. Mungo’s...Do you know if Malfoy was injured during the war?”

 

Hermione gave her a confused look, before responding.

 

“Uh, no, not that I know of. At least, I don’t remember seeing him injured. Though, we weren’t exactly close, as you’re aware.”

 

Fern bit her lip, debating on sharing such personal information. Hermione could read her.

 

“Was he injured, then?”

 

“He had lacerations on his chest, and burn marks and cuts, on his….well his…”

 

Hermione deduced what she was going to say next, and instinctively, Fern watched her grab her own injured arm. She felt immediate guilt on her line of questioning causing Hermione any discomfort. 

 

“I’m sorry, we don’t need to---”

 

Hermione cut her off, letting go of her arm.

 

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s ancient history now. So scarring and burn marks, you say?”

 

Fern nodded, feeling wary of saying too much. Hermione sighed deeply, ordering another drink.

 

“What I’m about to say stays between me and you, understood? I’m privy to certain information that _The Ministry_ isn’t interested in most knowing, but I know I can trust you, Fern. Can I trust you?”

 

Fern felt her whole body become stiff and cold, wondering what exactly was so secret involving Malfoy’s scars. 

 

“Of course, you know you can trust me.”

 

Hermione nodded, taking a swig.

 

“Alright. What I’m about to say can’t be said to anyone else, _especially Malfoy_ , nobody can know you know.”

 

Fern nodded vigorously, gulping a bit, her interest more than piqued. Hermione’s eyes became serious.

 

“After the Second Wizarding War, Ex-Death Eaters were rounded up and tried, as you’re aware. And, of course, the Malfoys weren’t exempt. _The Ministry_ was afraid that after the fallout from the war, someone else would emerge, and take over in Voldemort's stead. If you’re following that train of thought, it’s clear who they suspected it might be.”

 

Fern frowned.

 

“They suspected Malfoy…? That’s idiotic.”

 

Hermione nodded.

 

“I agree with you. So I attended Malfoy’s hearing, so did Harry, and we spoke on his behalf. We vouched for Malfoy and his mother's assistance, where they could give it. Not identifying Harry to Bellatrix, and of course, his mother lying for Harry. I noticed during the trial that Malfoy looked especially terrible. However, it was Malfoy’s attitude about the trial that really set me off. It was as if he _wanted_ to die. They gave him more than enough room to stick up for himself, but it was like he was mute. He simply wouldn’t respond.”

She shivered at the memory and Fern bit her lip, feeling guilty once again.

 

“This bothered me, and you know, I just couldn’t let it go. I did a bit of digging into some files I may or may not have exactly been authorized to see. What I found there was nothing less than shocking.”

 

Fern gulped as Hermione began to speak into her ear. _Three Broomstick_ s was rowdy enough to drown her out even at normal talking volume, so Fern knew whatever she was going to say, was indeed shocking and secret. 

 

“They tortured them. All of them.”

 

Fern pulled back to give Hermione a shocked expression.

 

“They...what…”

 

Hermione nodded, pulling her back in.

 

“I read his file. They suspected Malfoy knew more than he did, and they tortured him, until they were sure he didn’t have anymore information to give. Then, to keep an eye on him, they threatened him. Narcissa Malfoy was also in custody, she was also tortured, and they told him if he became an informant they’d let her go. Not only that, but if Malfoy didn’t keep to his word, they’d kill his father still in Azkaban. I guess they wanted to keep tabs on him, make sure he didn’t plan anything.”

 

Fern felt herself choke up, her expression pure horror.

 

“How can they...I mean they...”

 

“They shouldn’t have.”

 

Hermione said for her, looking truly saddened to relay the information. Fern felt a swell of affection for her. Despite Malfoy’s treatment of her in school she could still sympathize with him.

 

“So the scars...?”

 

Hermione shook her head, giving a shrug.

 

“Perhaps, but I can’t be sure. During his trial he was wearing long sleeves.”

 

Fern sighed, chewing her lip. Hermione's face became a bit more grave.

 

“But think about it Fern, why would _The Ministry_ target his Dark Mark? The ones on his chest, they make sense, but the others...?”

 

Fern felt the horrid truth click in her head.

 

“So….he…..”

 

Hermione turned from her, taking a sip, her hair concealing her facial expression.

 

“Malfoy has changed so much since school. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he’s fallen into a state of deep self-loathing.”

 

Fern looked down at her hands in her lap, squeezing them hard, trying not to let her tears leak out of her eyes. She felt Hermione’s hand settle itself on her shoulder, spreading a calming warmth through her body, and she looked up at her with glassy eyes.

 

“Let’s change the topic for now, huh? Do you have any leads on the breach?”

 

Fern felt her tears dry up immediately, remembering herself, and fumbled a bit. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, showing Hermione, with a look of triumph on her face.

 

“Oh, actually, now that you mention it…”

 

* * *

 

Fern found herself outside of the pub Parkinson had written down not two hours later. It was nice and late now, which meant she was more than likely, to not be noticed. She did a scan for Goyle, but didn’t see him, so she made her way to the bar. 

 

“Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for a friend, Mr. Goyle.”

 

The bartender was a man in his middle years, a short beard, scruffy and unkempt. He looked tired and a tad annoyed when he replied.

 

“I haven’t seen’em around for ages, but his friends here.”

 

He pointed a knobby finger towards a cloaked figure sitting by themselves off to her right. She thanked him by way of a tip and then meandered over to the person. She could make out their hands underneath the cloak, but that was about it. She took the seat in front of them.

 

“Excuse me, but are you by any chance friends with Mr. Goyle? I’ve been looking for him.”

 

The person didn’t move a single inch, staring at her, through the darkness of their hood.

 

“Who's asking?”

 

They simply said, in a distinctively male voice. Fern frowned.

 

“My name’s Fern Fawley. I’m a friend of Mr. Goyle’s.”

 

The man seemed to ease up a bit.

 

“Not here, Fawley. Follow me.”

 

He said, motioning for her to follow him outside. She knew she probably shouldn’t follow a mysterious and potentially dangerous stranger outside into the unknown, but she had to risk it. Everything Hermione had said to her had distrurbed her, and she had an inkling of something, but she needed more information. And, since Harry, Ron, and Malfoy weren’t responding to her, she’d decided to take things into her own hands. The cold night air met her skin with a shiver, and she drew her arms around her shoulders, as she wordlessly followed this strange man into an alleyway. She felt the blood begin to pump in her ears as she realized her situation, and slid one hand into her pocket, fingering her concealed wand.

 

“So, what is it you had to drag me all the way out here to talk about.”

 

The man dropped his cloak then, wordlessly, and Fern gasped when his face was no longer obscured.

 

“I...I know you.”

 

She said, her brain working overtime to place a name.

 

“You’re...Cassius Warrington. You were on the Slytherin Quidditch team.”

 

He smiled, nodding. He had grown since Hogwarts, now a tall man, and quite muscular. Fern felt herself on edge. This man could easily overpower her.

 

“I’m honored you remember me.”

 

“Yeah well, you were also in _The Inquisitor Squad_ . I certainly remember _that._ ”

 

He laughed, apparently amused, his brown hair falling a bit in his face as he did. 

 

“Ancient history now, Fawley. I seem to remember Malfoy being a member as well, but you’re more than happy to work alongside him, aren’t you?”

 

Fern felt her heart skip a beat for a fraction of a second.

 

“...How do you know that I’m working with him?”

 

Cassius shrugged noncommittally. Fern felt her anger rise to her ears.

 

“You’re supposed to be telling me where Goyle is, not questioning who I associate with.”

 

She said, gripping her wand tighter in her pocket, but Cassius just smiled.

 

“I won’t tell you where Goyle is, but I will give you a warning.”

 

His face lost all humor, his eyes shining in the streetlamps. Fern frowned, gritting her teeth.

 

“A warning, huh? You’ve been beaten out, I’m afraid. Goyle already gave me one. He told me ‘something big’ is about to happen. Care to elaborate?” 

 

Cassius frowned, the cloak moving rapidly to the side, and Fern narrowed her eyes. They both pointed their wands at each other, shouting.

 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

 

“ _Stupefy!_ ” 

 

The blinding flash of the two spells meeting caused Fern’s vision to obstruct. As the light dwindled, Fern could just see the two of them standing upright, wands drawn, staring. 

 

“Not bad, Fawley, not bad.”

 

He said, wand still pointed at her, a crooked smile across his face.

 

“Tell me what I want to know, Warrington. If you don’t, I’ll take you to _The Ministry_ , and have them get it out of you.”

 

Cassius’s eyes shone with something akin to mirth and Fern gritted her teeth again. She hated not being taken seriously. After a long and pregnant silence, he finally spoke.

 

“His warning to you, Fern, was about _The Ministry_. He wanted to tell you to be wary of them, not to trust them, as you have been.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“The Ministry will be coming after you, all of us, soon enough.”

 

For a second Fern felt her hand weaver, her wand dropping for just a split second, bemused by what he was saying. Cassius narrowed his eyes and took his opportunity. 

 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” 

 

Fern felt her wand vacate her hands and go flying behind her more than six feet. She cursed and turned to face Cassius, a pleased look on his face, wand pointed at her.

 

“There. Now, we can chat properly.”

 

“I have nothing to chat with you about. I’m here for information on Goyle, and that's it.”

 

Cassius laughed.

 

“Such spirit, even when backed into a corner. I can see why he likes you so much.”

 

Fern frowned, watching Cassius very carefully, for any indication of spell casting.

 

“Who is this “he”?”

 

Cassius smiled more broadly, advancing on her, and she found herself countering by backstepping.

 

“Our leader, of course.”

 

“You’re with the Death Eater imposters, then?”

 

“Oh, is that what we’re being called? How disappointing. We’re much more than that. However, for your purposes, I suppose I am.”

 

He approached her a bit more.

 

“However, we don’t conform to the Death Eater ideals. Our mission is to _destroy The Ministry._ Both the Death Eaters and _The Ministry_ must be destroyed for true peace.”

 

Fern gulped, feeling the pressure of the brick wall behind her, graze her back. _Great, nowhere to run now._

 

“Destroy _The Ministry? How absurd._ How will that bring about any semblance of peace? And this leader, what does he want with me?”

 

Cassius halted once he reached a foot away from her, wand still drawn, pointing into her chest.

 

“Your talents are needed for our cause, Fern. How fortuitous that you were the one who found me, after I’d been trying to get you alone since I saw you at the fundraiser, at Malfoy Manor.”

 

Fern felt anger radiated through her body.

 

“So, you’re the one who yanked me off of the floor?”

 

Cassius looked at her blankly and then laughed.

 

“Oh no, I was the one who attacked you, but I wasn’t the one who helped you to your feet. That was our leader. And as a punishment for hurting you, I was told to come find you, and escort you back to our headquarters. Turned out to be a difficult task too, Potter and Malfoy are tough opponents. So, I waited, to get you alone.”

 

Fern went to strike him, but her hand was caught effortlessly in Cassius’s hands. He gripped it tightly, causing Fern to hiss in pain. 

 

“How annoying you’re becoming. If our leader hadn’t specifically asked me not to harm you, I assure you, there’d be easier ways to transport you. Alas, I’m going to have to stun you, and carry you back.”

 

“Who is this leader? And what does he want with my ‘talents’?”

 

Cassius frowned, clearly annoyed, and she could see she was testing his already precarious patience. 

 

“You possess certain talents, like your ability to make magical objects. Not only this, but leader wants to spare you from _The Ministry_ and invite you to become apart of the New World we’re creating. You should be grateful. As to who he is…”

 

Cassius gripped her hand tighter and Fern gave out a cry, trying to rip it from his iron grip. 

 

“That’s something our leader will have to address himself.”

 

Fern frowned, and then smiled.

 

“You’re forgetting one great talent of mine, Cassius.”

 

He looked down at her from the bridge of his nose, an expression of exasperation on his face.

 

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

 

With one word, Cassius was flown backwards, cursing loudly as he did. Fern scrambled to run for her wand, she needed to get out of here, as fast as possible. She knew that he wouldn’t provide her with anymore clues now. Cassius was up quicker than Fern expected. Just as her fingertips touched her wand, she saw it yanked away by an invisible source, as hands clamped down over her mouth. 

 

“ _You little bitch._ Wandless magic, eh? Not bad. I’m sure leader won’t be mad if I just break your legs and arms, to make sure you won’t get away, of course.” 

 

Cassius glared down at her, a murderous look on his face which was now bleeding, as he raised his wand. Fern shut her eyes. 

 

_Well, at least I tried._

 

“ _Expulso!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on twitter if you want updates on when I post chapters! 
> 
> Twitter: @sp00kygrrrl


	7. Episode 7: The War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorry it took so long to write the rest of this! I've been incredibly busy, but I promise I didn't forget about this fic! Thank you to all the people who've continued to read this and comment, I'm sincerely grateful!

_“_ _Expulso!"_

 

Fern braced herself, but the impact never happened. Instead, she was simply picked up and taken away from the commotion, her ears ringing slightly, eyes still closed. She was set on the ground, unable to move quite yet. Warm hands were on her, then.

 

“Malfoy! What in _the blazes_ are you doing?!”

 

“What do you think I’m doing, _Granger_ ? I’m _helping_.”

 

“Well, you’re ‘helping’ is going to get everyone _killed_.”

 

 _Malfoy…and Hermione…?_ Fern’s hazy thoughts filtered in as her ears ceased ringing so harshly, feeling someone grab her by her underarms, hauling her limp body into a sitting position, and cradling her back for support.

 

“Fern?! Fern, are you awake?!”

 

Hermione's concerned face filled her vision, as Fern willed her eyes open, her head pounding. She bypassed Hermione to see the blindingly white back head of Malfoy, his wand pressed into Cassius’s throat savagely, who for his part looked a bit... _singed_. 

 

“ _I should kill you._ ”

 

Malfoys words came out venomous, more venomous than Fern had ever heard him before, and it caused her to shiver in fear involuntarily. They were spoken between clenched teeth, she could tell by the sound, but was unable to see his facial expression.

 

“ _Do it, then_ , but we both know you won’t. All Malfoy’s are _cowards_.”

 

Malfoy gave an aggravated cry as he pressed his wand so deep into Cassius’s neck it was a wonder it didn’t break the skin.

 

“Cruic-”

 

Malfoy was yanked backwards by his collar, Harry interrupting what was likely about to be a criminal offense, his own wand pointed levely at Cassius.

 

“ _Malfoy, that's enough_!” 

 

Harry’s voice was stern and filled with authority. She could see Malfoy’s face finally, his palpable rage turned to Harry, now.

 

“Potter you saw him, what he would’ve done to...he would’ve--”

 

Hermione was the one who silenced him.

 

“ _Yes_ , and _you_ could’ve burned us all to ashes with that _little stunt_ . _Honestly_ , it’s a _wonder_ how we’re all still _alive_. You don’t just go burning people up like that. Fern could’ve been hurt!”

 

Malfoy’s grey eyes rested on Fern, finally. She wondered what she must’ve looked like, because his eyes roamed over her, and a pained expression overtook his face. One she couldn’t quite figure out. He cursed, kicking the alleyway brick wall, his face obscured from them again.

 

“-Not to mention you should be _thanking_ Harry from stopping you from--”

 

“ _Enough!”_

 

Malfoy’s voice rang out and silence ensued. Fern could see his body shaking slightly.

 

“ _Potter, get him out of my sight before I finish what I started._ ”

 

His voice was cold and it caused Fern alarm. She tried to get up and go to him, for some reason, but felt another wave of dizziness. Her body became numb, and then limp. She fell to the ground, her consciousness leaving her altogether, the last thing she heard was Hermione’s concerned cry.

 

\--

 

“--Of all the _stupid_ things to do. I should _murder_ Parkinson.”

 

Malfoy’s voice in her hazy mind could be heard, but she was still unable to open her eyes. Her body felt lighter, more comfortable, perhaps she was in a bed.

 

“Really? And what you did wasn’t?”

 

_Harry._

 

There was silence and a short scoff, likely from Malfoy, before Fern’s eyelashes fluttered and she was able to open them.

 

“I’d really appreciate it if my first moments awake weren’t spent talking about someone being murdered, Malfoy.”

 

Fern found herself saying, forming words was hard, and it felt like she had a mouth full of gum. Malfoys grey eyes slid from Harry to Fern lightening fast, but his face gave away nothing, his mouth a hardline.

 

“Fern, I’m glad you’re awake! Are you feeling okay?”

 

 _Harry, thoughtful as always._ She thought, somewhat affectionately. Malfoy simply stared, a blank and unreadable expression across his face. It was then that Fern remembered her anger.

 

“Yes, yes. _I’m fine._ However, both of you are at the top of my _shit list_ . I’ve been owling you both for _days now._ ”

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably while Malfoy had a slight look of rage on his face.

 

“Erm, well, yes. We were busy setting up our apprehension of Cassius Warrington, but erm, as it turns out you’d already found him.”

 

“And almost got yourself killed.”

 

Malfoy said, his voice steely, his equally steely eyes resting on her with undeniable fury. Fern felt her own fire begin to grow.

 

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have been so rash if you’d simply communicated with me. The last time I saw you, you were writhing in pain, about to get the largest needle I’ve ever seen put directly into your---”

 

Malfoy’s narrowed dangerously as she spoke, but when she’d reached the end, it had tipped him over.

 

_“Enough!”_

 

Just like before he exploded, and both Harry and Fern visibly recoiled from him. He stood and turned to leave, the chair making an audible scraping sound, his back to her.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Fawley, and I don’t owe you anything. Perhaps going forward, you should worry about _yourself more_ , and me _less_.”

 

And with that he’d stomped away, leaving Fern frothing over with anger, and a very uncomfortable Harry. After Malfoys angry footsteps could no longer be heard, Harry cleared his throat, drawing Fern away from her murderous thoughts.

 

“ _Ahem._ I’m sure this isn’t the _best_ time to tell you this, but all the same, I must.”

 

Fern’s own eyes steered to Harry, fire burning beneath them, her voice taunt and low.

 

“What exactly do you have to tell me?”

 

Harry shifted in his seat, sighing deeply.

 

“After last night's _events_ , Hermione asked for someone with proper training to be assigned to you, as a bodyguard of sorts. You must understand, she was sick with worry about you helping us from the start, but now its…”

 

Fern felt her anger beginning to rise again.

 

“And…?”

 

“And well, since Ron and I are already quite busy, the only logical choice was…” 

 

He shifted again.

 

“Malfoy.”

 

He continued after Fern gave no verbal response.

 

“And well, he starts on Monday.”

 

There was a long silence before Fern found her voice.

 

“Harry, you have exactly thirty seconds to leave the room before I hex you into oblivion where you sit.”

 

\--

 

Fern released herself from St. Mungos, despite Harrys many attempts to get her to stay overnight. She’d had enough of them, and more importantly, longed for her own bed. She shuffled into her home that night, hearing the distant cry of Pixie, no doubt wanting to be fed. She fed him and then fumbled about for the light switch, and as she did, caught herself in the mirror of her living room.

 

 _Awful._  

 

That was the only word that could describe it. She had scraps on her face from no doubt falling head first on the pavement, purple and green around her wrist from where Cassius had grabbed her, and her lip had been split. She hugged her shoulders, feeling a twinge of guilt as she envisioned Hermione’s concerned face over hers, but renewed anger when she thought of Malfoy’s earlier comments.

 

“What a _bellend_ , treating me like _that_ when I look like _this_.”

 

She found herself yelling, as Pixie rubbed against her gratefully, then paused and looked at her. 

 

She scoffed.

 

“Don’t give me that look.”

 

Pixie continued to stare, a soft purr ebbing off of him. She picked him up by the underarms, holding him at arms length from herself, so they were eye level.

 

“Oh no, don’t you even _try_ to tell me you understand where he's coming from.”

 

Pixie gave a small meow and Fern sighed.

 

“I suppose I was a _bit_ reckless”

 

Pixie meowed again before wiggling himself free from Fern’s grasp. Fern sighed, settling onto her couch for the night.

 

“I’m so lucky I have you around, Pixie. You keep me level headed.”

 

Pixie simply blinked back.

 

\--

 

Monday was nothing short of completely awkward. Fern had arrived to work early, as she always did, and sat in her office sorting through the new paperwork that had been lumped in a high pile on her desk. After about an hour of sipping coffee here and there, and working diligently, she’d almost forgotten Malfoy was supposed to be her new _partner_. 

 

 _Almost._  

 

Malfoy showed up late, which was no surprise, dressed in office attire and a menacing scowl on his face. He said nothing to her, and she graced him back with nothing in response. The only sound that was produced was the scrap of Malfoy pulling up a chair to, seemingly, watch her work as she sipped her coffee idly. After several long and tense minutes of silence, it was Malfoy who broke first.

 

“You look like shit. You should go home.”

Fern stopped writing, her quill in her hand immobile, as she processed his words. Then, without so much as looking at him, went back to what she was doing. Of all the things Malfoy could’ve said, it was _that_ that had graced itself to leave his mouth. Fern was fuming under her cold and calculated mask of indifference, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. 

 

“And you look like a porter. Are you quite finished being hostile?”

 

Malfoy furrowed for a few seconds before the tension left his body completely. The words that left him were curt and forced.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

More silence ensued until Fern could take it no more, and set her quill aside loudly, turning her chair to better face Malfoy.

 

“Look, I understand you don’t like me. However, we’re being forced to work together, and as professionals, it’d be nice to come to some sort of truce. I don’t really want to spend my time at work in awkward silence, if it can be helped.”

 

Malfoy blinked at her for a few seconds. What he decided to say was nothing that Fern had expected.

 

“You think I hate you? Are you stupid?”

 

Fern finally cracked, she gritted her teeth, her voice coming out in nearly a shout.

 

“Yes, _clearly_ I’m stupid and reckless and I offend you. I _obviously_ am not trained in auror work, I’m not _particularly good_ at working undercover as we’ve found out, and now you’re forced to be my baby sitter. I get it, Malfoy. _I do._ However, I won’t just sit here and continue to be insulted as I _attempt_ to do my job.”

 

He surprised her again by laughing, actually laughing.

 

“You’re _absolutely incredible_ , you know that? You think I’d rush in to save you, jeopardizing our carefully planned mission, if I hated you? Do you think I would’ve given your condition a second thought, or _waited around_ until you regained consciousness at St. Mungos, if I hated you? Fern, I feel many things about what you did the other night, but hating you is not one of them.”

It was Fern’s turn to be speechless as his words began to register. 

 

“You...I...what…?”

 

“I think ‘thank you’ is what your brain is trying to get you to say, Fawley.”

 

Her anger redoubled.

 

“Thank you?! Thank you for _what_ ? Leaving me _alone_ to worry about you for days on end, and then after ‘saving me’, turning around and insulting me? Yeah, I’m not so sure those are the words I’m looking for.”

 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, all humor lost from his face.

 

“You’re unbelievable. And some people think _I’m_ stubborn. Here I am, laying a bridge for you, and all I get is more anger?”

 

Fern deflected his banter, unwilling to play his game anymore. He was goading her, and she wanted answers.

 

“You looked terrible, Malfoy. I thought you might die. I worried about you. And you couldn’t even grace me with an ‘i’m fine’.”

 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened a fraction, his grey eyes waxing over into something dangerous, guarded. He turned away from her, his hair obstructing his face.

 

“I wanted to pretend like you hadn’t seen that. You weren’t supposed to see that. I thought if I ignored it, you’d forget it happened.”

 

“But it did.”

 

Silence. The only noise now was the faint ticking of the cat clock, that oddly resembled Pixie, hanging against the wall.

 

“I don’t know if you know this, Fawley, but I’m not exactly a _nice guy_ . Those sorts of things don’t come _naturally_ to me, like they do to you. The things that do come naturally to me are darker and meaner and altogether crueler. And as I’ve explained, _I owe you nothing_ . _You’re nothing to me._ And I should be nothing to you, but a bodyguard, until we find the stolen artifact. So, do us both a favor, and stop trying to meddle in things that have _absolutely nothing_ to do with you.”

 

The words he spoke shouldn’t have stung as much as they did. He was right, afterall. She was nothing to him, and Malfoy had never been anything particularly to her. Until now. Fern felt tears threatening to spill and panicked, attempting to think of something she could do to let her vacate the room. It was then as she stood, that she felt Pansy’s letter crinkling in her pocket, the very same one she’d attempted to give him before in St. Mungos. She walked over aggressively, Malfoy’s face turned and he had a look of panic on it, as she thrust the letter directly into his chest.

 

“Maybe I’m ‘nothing’ to you, but you’re definitely not ‘nothing’ to Parkinson. I tried to give you that letter from her at St. Mungos, so here, here’s someone who still gives a shit about you.”

 

She didn’t pause or even look at what reaction she’d garnered. She simply walked out of the door, hot tears finally spilling from her face that she’d tried so hard to resist.

 

\--

 

Fern hadn’t returned to her office, instead she’d headed straight for the pub, and sat sniveling there for far too long than was proper. She was only thankful that Malfoy had come so late to _The Ministry_ , so her drinking wasn’t looked upon as something dubious. The TV in the pub flashed an image of Cassius and his recent arrest and she frowned, feeling her pain redouble. She didn’t know why Malfoy’s insults had hurt so badly. But, all the same, it did. Her mind wandered into a place that she’d fought tooth and nail for it to never go, but due to her inebriation, she simply couldn’t resist it. 

 

\--

 

_“Fern! This way!”_

 

_The tug of a warm hand in hers was the only thing that grounded Fern in that moment. Stalk still, she was suddenly jolted into a run, carried along by the others momentum. It wasn’t until the third hallway that she recognized that Theo was the one pulling her._

 

 _Only a few moments previously had Raven Graytwig been alive, and now, Fern knew she was no longer. She’d watched in helpless terror as death eaters had effortlessly and unblinkingly murdered her near the Slytherin Dormitories. She’d wanted to scream, beg for help, but she’d been frozen. Guilt and shame had leaked through her bones at her helplessness, but all the same, she’d done nothing. Just like when Voldemort had killed her parents, only a few weeks prior, she’d been able to do nothing at all._  
  
It was then that Theodore Nott had ran by, as the death eaters approached, coaxing her to run blindly with him. 

 

_“Where are we going?”_

 

_Fern finally found her voice, but it was shaky, just like her legs. She didn’t have to look behind her to know that the death eaters had given chase. She felt spells whizz by her head after that thought, and Theo slammed her along with himself against a wall, shielding them from the onslaught of curses and hexes. She felt the breath get knocked out of her as Theo’s entire body encased her against the wall, one hand over her body, the other wand at the ready._

 

_“Theo...what...what are we going to do?”_

 

_Her own terror disgusted her, but Theo said nothing, his eyes furrowed and focused on their enemy. He waited until their footsteps got closer before lunging out briefly into the hallway again._

 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

 

_Green light pierced through Fern's vision as Theo did the unthinkable, spoke the unforgivable, and cried as she heard the thunk of a body hit the floor. Theo breathed a sigh of relief before focusing on Fern again. He wiped her tears from her face and gripped her hand again._

 

_“It was them or us, Fern, them or us. C’mon, I promise I’ll get us out of here.”_

 

_He took off again, leaving her only a moment to catch a glimpse of the white and stilled body left on the ground, the deathly mask strown off enough for Fern to see the hollow emptiness in their eyes. She shivered as he forced her on, and on, and on. The hallways became endless and maze like, but he kept pushing her, until they reached a door. He flung it open, ushering them inside, and Fern immediately realized what it was._

 

_It was the room of requirement. Theo walked with purpose and conviction and Fern followed obediently, too numbed to protest or ask questions. It was then they stopped upon a cabinet, a fairly normal looking cabinet, and Theo flung it open._

 

_“Fern, get in.”_

 

_She balked._

 

_“You’re going to hide us in a cabinet? They’ll find us and kill us.”_

 

_Just as she finished speaking she heard the door to the room of requirement open, and Theo cursed, shoving Fern inside gruffly. Fern cried out, but landed decidedly inside. She could see that the second death eater had finally caught up to them. Theo pointed his wand at him, but gave Fern a strange and delicate look._

 

_“Fern, I know now is not a good time, but it’s as good as I’m going to get I guess.”_

 

_A strange look crossed his face and Fern felt her breath hitch. Theo leaned in, kissing her square on her open mouth, before pulling away. She could hear the death eater throwing things around, searching for them. He was screaming madly about the death of his partner._

 

_“I love you, Fern.”_

 

_Fern felt numb as he turned away, hearing the death eater finally approach._

 

_And that was when Theo had closed the cabinet._

 

_“Theo no!”_

 

_She’d screamed, her voice ragged with fear and pain._

 

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

 

_Green light filtered through the cracks in the cabinet as Fern sobbed, but they disappeared a fraction of a second later. After a long time of crying and shaking, Fern had been brave enough to open the cabinet, but found herself no longer at Hogwarts. Instead, she set a shaky foot on the ground, in Borgin and Burkes, completely alone._

 

\--

 

Fern must’ve started crying somewhere during the memory, and in her hazy state, rushed from the pub to go home. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. She wasn’t crying out of sadness, well yes she was, but it was also shame. And of course, this is when Malfoy finally found her.

 

It had begun to rain as Fern stumbled her way back home, too drunk to even apprate, she was forced to walk. It was then that she felt a firm hand grip her shoulder, stopping her from falling flat on her face, into the pavement. To her surprise, her head whipped up to see Malfoy, an annoyed expression on his face.

 

“ _Merlin_ , do you have _any idea_ how long I’ve been looking for you? And you were just out getting drunk? Almost fell flat on your face again, _seriously_ , are you even---”

 

He stopped suddenly, a curious expression flitting over his face. Fern was too drunk to decipher it.

 

“Fern, why are you crying…?”

 

His voice was softer now, and held less menace. Fern turned from him, but his grip was insistent, and he forced her back gruffly.

 

“Fern, why are you crying.”

 

Now it was a demand.

 

“Let go of me!”

 

“I won’t.”

 

A statement. Her pale blue eyes landed menacingly against his cold, grey ones.

 

“Is this about what I said earlier? I’m sorry I--”

 

Fern felt herself crack, her nails digging savagely into Malfoy’s hands, causing him to hiss in pain a release her.

 

“Not _bloody everything_ is about _you_ , Malfoy! It might surprise you to know that I have _other things_ to think about than _you_. No, I’m not crying over your stupid little comments. Well, I did earlier, but that’s not the point! You’re a selfish, arrogant, egotistical prat, who never thinks before he bloody speaks and...and…”

 

She paused, gasping as tears fell down her face with a vengeance, the rain getting harder. She couldn’t even look at Malfoy, couldn’t dare to. She knew how awful and pitiful she looked, yelling at him like this, drunk on the street side.

 

“And...and...I’m just a _coward_! A coward who lets her parents die...her friends die...and when I finally get the courage to do _something right_ I can’t even manage that…!”

 

She felt herself spin, her stomach lurch, and suddenly she vomited all over the ground in front of them. Directly onto Malfoy’s shiny new looking shoes. Then there was silence. And for a painstakingly long minute, Fern thought Malfoy was going to turn and leave her there alone, as he should. She expected him to yell at her, tell her how annoying and pathetic she was, how much his shoes cost him, even. However, he did not. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm gently and righted her, and without looking at her, spoke.

 

“Come on, I’m apparating us home. And don’t you _dare_ get sick on my new pants.”

 

\--

When Malfoy had said “home”, mistakenly, Fern had assumed he’d meant _her_ home. So, it was with some degree of surprise, that she’d found herself in _Malfoy Manor_. 

 

“Not to sound ungrateful, but _why_ are we at _Malfoy Manor_?”

 

Malfoy scoffed in annoyance, but didn’t let his grip on her arm go.

 

“You’re right, you _do_ sound ungrateful, _especially_ since these were new shoes.”

 

 _And there it is..._ Fern thought, rolling her eyes, then regretting it as the nausea set back in. She yanked her arm free, annoyed that he assumed she couldn’t stand on her own. He paused to watch her do it with amusement, and then continued.

 

“However, to answer your question, we’re simply here because of that fact I have absolutely no idea where you live. And I _doubt_ you’re even able to tell me that right now.”

 

Fern’s eyes narrowed and looked at him suspiciously.

 

“You underestimate me. Also, you’re full of it, you owled me.”

 

He shrugged, noncommittally. 

 

“ _Just because_ I managed to get your address from Potter to owl you once doesn’t mean I memorized it. Whose arrogant, _now_?”

 

“Point taken. Also, I think I’m about to be sick again, so where is the _undoubtedly lavish_ bathroom on this floor of your home?”

 

“Such _big words_ from someone in your condition. Down the hallway, to the right.”

 

Fern grumbled a bit, but realized it was only hastening the inevitable, and walked a tad bit quicker to the loo. After some time of ungracefully relieving herself, she walked back to where she’d started to find Malfoy no longer alone. 

 

“Oh, Draco, you didn’t tell me we had a guest.”

 

Fern would’ve groaned out loud if she hadn’t been certain she’d throw up again. Narcissa Malfoy stood in front of her, in her elegant silk nightgown, looking completely shocked to see her. Fern knew, with some degree of shame, she was probably dirty and smelled of liquor. 

 

“Yes, it seems I’ve somehow found myself responsible for her for the night. She’s drunk.”

 

Fern frowned, feeling herself anger.

 

“Am not.”

 

“Fine. Spin around in a circle three times.”

 

“I have to decline.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“Because I’m not drunk.”

 

“I see. Makes perfect sense. Since we’re having such _wonderful_ conversation, shall I make us some tea, then?”

 

Narcissa Malfoy perked up a bit, and much to Fern's surprise, reached over and grabbed her under the arm.

 

“Certainly, dear, how nice of you to offer. I’m sure Ms. Fawley would do better with some tea and pastries.”

 

She allowed, due to her shock, Narcissa to lead her into a drawing room with a giant and quiet cozy fire. She shivered, realizing she was quite wet. 

 

“Oh dear, you’re going to catch a cold like that. Come, I have something you can wear while your clothes dry.”

 

Before Fern could protest, Narcissa led her into an amazing master bedroom, probably the size of Fern’s entire apartment. Any argument died in her throat as she simply stood on unsteady legs, drinking it in. Sure, Fern had been brought up somewhat wealthy. However, nothing quite like this. Everything looked too expensive to even use, it was absurd that anyone lived like this, like literal kings. Narcissa had busied herself in Fern’s shock gathering pajamas that would apparently fit her. And that’s how Fern found herself wearing Narcissa Malfoy’s silken pajamas, drinking tea and eating pastries in _Malfoy Manor_ , attempting not to puke all over herself. 

 

“Um...thank you for...everything, Mrs. Malfoy.”

 

She said to Narcissa as Malfoy arrived with the tea and pastries. 

 

“ _Oh yes_ , you’re _quite welcome_ , Draco Malfoy at _your service._ ”

 

The sarcasm dripped from his voice as he set it on the table. He plopped down next to Fern, popping a pastry into his own mouth, quietly stewing. Narcissa seemed unphased, and Fern realized, that was probably due to the fact she’d become immune to his drawling ridicule quite a long time ago. She ignored him.

 

“Of course, dear. I’d been meaning to invite you over for tea, anyways. I felt terrible that your first time here ended so poorly.”

 

Fern felt uncomfortable, so without thinking, she began to not only make her own tea, but apparently Malfoy’s as well. 

 

“Oh, erm, yes. It’s quite alright. I seemed to muck that whole mission up on my lonesome so, really, it’s okay. You have a very lovely home and before then, the fundraiser was very enjoyable.”

 

Once she’d made her own her nervous hands had reached for Malfoy’s as well, putting at least four helpings of sugar in it, and putting it back down. It was really a force of habit. She used to make her mother’s tea like this, back when she’d had one. She stilled once she realized what she’d done. Malfoy had his pastry in mid bite, eyeing her oddly. He finished it, picked the tea up, and drank it.

 

“Not bad, Fawley. Though, it could probably use some more sugar. _Not nearly enough_ , I’m afraid.”

 

His eyes glittered at her in devious mirth and she frowned.

“You’re going to make me puke. And this time, I’ll make sure to aim for your pants.”

 

Malfoy actually gave a short snort in response, tilting the tea cup back further, finishing it in one go. All the while Narcissa watched their interactions, her face passive, but her eyes were anything but.

 

“So, Draco tells me he’s to work with you at _The Ministry_ now?”

 

“Oh, yes, I suppose so. Hermio--er, Ms. Granger, has him helping me out. I’m not really trained for this sort of thing, so she figured it’d be nice to have someone around who is.”

 

Narcissa smiled warmly at that.

 

“Ah, yes. That Granger girl is always so kind and thoughtful. I’ll never forget what she and Potter did for me and Draco. I had her over for tea too, shortly after we got out of Azkaban. I felt it was necessary to right some of the wrongs we’ve done over the years and of course, specifically what happen--”

 

“ _Mother._ ”

 

Malfoy’s tone was a warning and Narcissa stopped her train of thought abruptly.

 

“ _Anyways_ , I’m quite tired, I should leave you to it, then. Goodnight Draco, and goodnight Ms. Fawley. It’s a pleasure.”

 

“Like wise.”

 

Fern said, the words leaving her mouth dreamily, as she thought on the last things Narcissa had said. Hermione’s words rang in her ears.

 

_“He had lacerations on his chest, and burn marks and cuts, on his….well his…”_

 

_Hermione deduced what she was going to say next, and instinctively, Fern watched her grab her own injured arm._

_“I’m sorry, we don’t need to---”_

_Hermione cut her off, letting go of her arm._

_“No, no, it’s fine. It’s ancient history now. So scarring and burn marks, you say?”_

 

Fern frowned, as she noticed Malfoy toying with the hem of his shirt.

 

“I’m sorry for what I said tonight, when I was drunk earlier. I don’t think you’re _that_ much of a prat.”

 

Malfoys head whipped up and his eyes met hers.

 

“No, it’s fine, I deserved it for what I said to you back in the office.”

 

Silence elapsed again as Fern took another sip of her tea. Then, she stirred it, only stopping when Malfoy spoke again.

 

“You’re not a coward, you know. Not many cowards I know would go off and find a murderous cult member and try to interrogate him. And I know a thing or two about cowards. _Reckless_ however....that is something you are.”

 

_“Do it, then, but we both know you won’t. All Malfoy’s are cowards.”_

 

Fern felt words echo hollowly in her ears. 

 

_“Malfoy has changed so much since school. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he’s fallen into a state of deep self-loathing.”_

 

_“Has it ever crossed your mind that he might be remorseful? Perhaps even deeply so?”_

 

Fern resumed her stirring, thinking as she spoke aloud.

 

“You’re not one either, you know. During the war, you at least had conviction. I just sat there and let it all happen. I didn’t have the strength to stop it or even the strength to run away.”

 

Malfoy’s entire body tightened then.

“You have no idea what you’re saying. And I strongly suggest you don’t say anymore on it. This has nothing to do with you.”

 

His voice was stone cold and the force of it caused Fern to drop her spoon with a clatter. 

 

_“Draco’s got a very clever way of knowing exactly what a person doesn’t want to hear, is what I mean.”_

 

_“You’re nothing to me.”_

 

_“So, do us both a favor, and stop trying to meddle in things that have absolutely nothing to do with you.”_

 

“You’re doing it again.”

 

She said, retrieving the spoon. She reached over them as she filled his cup up for him, putting at least six spoonfuls of sugar in it, wrinkling her nose as she did. 

 

“ _Doing what, exactly?_ ”

 

His voice was ice again, his expression threatening, but underneath it lurked something else. Fear? Apprehension? She couldn’t tell.

 

“Trying to push people away. Tell them exactly what you think they don’t want to hear.”

 

She echoed Pansy’s words to him, and he narrowed his eyes. He said nothing in response.

 

 _“It’s not about_ _you_ _, Fawley. I’d much prefer it to be_ _myself_ _, or_ _Blaise_ _, but that’s not how the cards were dealt. You’re the one that, for whatever reason, Draco is speaking with.”_

 

“Draco, let me see your arm.”

 

“ _What._ ”

 

The words left his mouth in almost a hiss. Fern flinched, but repeated herself.

 

“I said, let me see your arm.”

“ _No._ ”

 

His answer was firm and absolute, but there was definitely something else in his eyes. She’d turned to him, staring into his grey ones, and she knew she saw fear in them. His whole body was stiff and edged away from her. He reminded her of a cat that was cornered, its tail all furrowed, hissing and spitting at you.

 

She reached forward, maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was something else, but she felt like this was the right move. Malfoy flinched away at first, but the hot look of anger on his face started to give way to panic as she loomed closer. She realized then, that Draco Malfoy, was not a bully. Draco Malfoy was not a coward. Draco Malfoy was not a villain. What Draco Malfoy _was_ , was a sad, and horrible depressed boy. A boy who’d been forced to see and do things, that he shouldn’t have ever had to.

 

He shivered as her cold hands reached for his sleeve, as she yanked it and curled it up above his elbows, he did nothing to stop her. He simply stared, shaking, rooted to the spot. Fern was hovering over his entire body now on the small couch, and he was haphazardly sprawled underneath her, tilted away from her. Fear laced his eyes as inch by inch, his arm was exposed to her eyes. 

 

And there it was again.

 

Lacerations, burns, and scarred flesh. 

 

Her smooth fingers went to touch it and Malfoy finally seemed to come to life.

 

“ _Get off of me!_ ”

 

He yelled, a fury which surprised her, but she held on as he attempted to thrash her off.

 

“ _No._ ”

 

Just like earlier in the night, as he’d refused to drop it, so did she. He cursed and tried to pry her hands from around him, but she held fast.

 

“Stop…”

 

The words came out choked and less menacing, and Fern realized that he was crying. He wasn’t crying like her, not a helpless pathetic sort of cry, but a cry that was full of quiet anguish. The anguish of someone finally seeing just how low you are. His freed hand was across his eyes, attempting to hide it from her. Fern took this opportunity to touch his arm, causing him to draw in breath like a hiss, and squirm uncomfortably beneath her. 

 

The Dark Mark was surprisingly beautiful. Fern had never thought in a million years she’d feel that way, but she did. Against his pale skin, despite it being scarred and partially destroyed, it contrasted beautifully. Her fingers ran over the raised marks of the times Malfoy had apparently attempted to cut it out of his own skin, to no avail, and read every mark as if it were braille. Every time Malfoy had hated himself enough to mutilate his arm, in an attempt to get rid of the evidence of his shame.

 

Speaking of, he had apparently surrendered to his fate, because he was limp beneath her, helpless to her intrusion. She dared to look at him and found that he’d moved his hand away from his eyes, watching her with a curious look on his face. She didn’t know what possessed her, but regardless, she did as her instincts told her.  

 

She bent down without a second thought, and pressed her lips against it, causing Malfoy to jolt up. In one fluid movement, he jolted up, righted her by her shoulders, and then just held her there. For a long time, their eyes just met, silence elapsing comfortably between them.

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

“ _Shut up._ ”

 

Cruel words like venom and whips lashed out at her from beneath his quivering lips, but she knew better now. She could see the frightened look in his eyes still. 

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

She found herself saying, unhindered. Maybe she was drunk still. Yes, she’d blame it on that. Malfoy looked taken aback and released her shoulders, covering his face with one hand.

 

"You're _out of your mind_ if you truly think that. There is _nothing_ , _nothing_ beautiful about me. "

 

He got up then, shakily and abruptly, retreating she guessed. She watched him until he disappeared into the darkness of _Malfoy Manor_ and gave a shaky exhale she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.  
  
She half chuckled half choked out a laugh at herself. She put her own hands to her head, feeling it give a slight spin, clearly still a bit drunk. She’d realized tonight the horrible, stupid reason she’d been unable to leave Draco Malfoy alone. Why she’d worried endlessly about him in the hospital, why she’d bother to meet Pansy Parkinson on his behalf, why the hurtful and angry things he said when he lashed out at her always stung so bad. It was so simple, yet so horribly annoying and infuriating and _wrong_ to her, that she’d had to laugh at herself. 

 

It was because she was in love with Draco Malfoy.


End file.
